


I'm not a bad man. I'm just overwhelmed

by brunch, Tire_Toi



Category: Golden Wind - Fandom, ジョジョの奇妙な冒険 | JoJo no Kimyou na Bouken | JoJo's Bizarre Adventure
Genre: Adoption, Aggressively stupid dumb characterizations, Clubbing, Coma, Hospitalization, Idiots, Jazz - Freeform, M/M, Music, Narancia as Abbachio's favorite, Nintendo Switch, Philip Glass I guess, Present Day AU, Record shop owner Abbacchio, Recreational Drug Use, Salvador Dali - Freeform, Sappy, Team as Family, Vaping, Wine, You'll get what I feed you and that is a shitty goth man pining over bucciarati in his 40s, cocaine apparently, excessive mascara running down Abbachio's face, family au, late night goth adventure, night life, no one dies, pretentious older gay couple
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-24
Packaged: 2020-12-21 13:07:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 23,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21075380
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brunch/pseuds/brunch, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tire_Toi/pseuds/Tire_Toi
Summary: It is 2019 and Abbacchio is attending an avant garde late night indie film to try and forget his recent break up with Risotto.He and one other man watch the film. Is it wrong to have a crush on someone you just met?





	1. A crush turning into a like

A plume of smoke floated above the flashing projector lights as Abbacchio shamelessly sucked on his juul. He was reclined with his long legs propped up by the back of the adjacent rows seating. Not as if it mattered, there were only two people in this small independent theater tonight. Abbacchio had been to this particular showing last week but decided to see it again to keep his mind off of all of his stress. The last couple of weeks had been hard on him and he rubbed his forehead with his free hand and took another hit of his vape.

Trying to focus on the film was difficult. It was a compilation of old black and white Salvador Dali Films set to the sounds of Philip Glass, something that normally he would deeply appreciate but was too preoccupied with his unwanted thoughts. Abbacchio nursed his overpriced wine and frustratedly cursed the theater custodian who cut him off at only three drinks. It wasn’t as if he was close to being drunk, it was insulting.

The only other man in the theater sat in the very first row. Abbacchio had seen him before in other similar venues and it was awkward that he knew him but didn’t even know his name. After all this time, they hadn’t been introduced, which was strange and annoying. Abbacchio curled his lip as he finished the last remaining sip of wine from the glass, keeping an irritated and watchful eye over the mystery man sitting two rows ahead of him. Luckily the spacing of the theater seats were close enough so that he could watch him in the darkened room. The stranger kept his arms folded over his torso, spine jammed against the vintage theater seats. He stared unblinkingly at the rapidly flashing screen ahead, occasionally furrowing his brow and squinting in fascination as the effervescent, bubbly, and carbonated notes of Philip Glass echoed across the dimly lit viewing chamber, accompanying the whimsical images conjured up by the late 20th century artist. Every now and again he would lift his chin and laugh but without any sound at all. He never smiled.

Risotto never engaged with Abbacchio’s films this way. Memories of late nights guilting Risotto into accompanying him to clever and obscure art films re-entered his lonely single brain. He realized he was staring. Maybe watching this man’s playful expressions shift in time was the real show.

Oh Abbacchio.  
Not this again.  
You’ve already just destroyed a committed and meaningful relationship with musings like these!  
Stupid!  
Stupid!  
Stupid  
Stupid  
……  
stupid….

He sat his empty wine glass down and pushed it under the seat so that some poor theater lackey could clean it up later. Brushing his hair back pensively, he tried to be present minded but the more he tried to not think of unpleasant thoughts the more they appeared. His two month relationship with Risotto was intense and meant more than Abbacchio was willing to admit. They had met at the only goth club in town and had the same dark interests…. But Risotto couldn’t commit…. What they had was irreplaceable…..

Abbacchio shot out of his seat and fast walked out of the theater to skulk outside. Mascara ran down Abbacchio’s face as he could no longer maintain his composure and he fiddled around in his pocket for his embroidered lilac handkerchief. It was no use. It must have been left in his other goth outfit. This pissed him off more. He leaned against the brick exterior of the theater and closed his eyes to cry in peace. The chilly night wind allowed his long white hair to sway. A soft wave of comfort flowed over him.

It was then that Abbacchio realized he was not alone. When he opened his eyes there stood the enigmatic man from the theater beside him. He was leaning against the wall and looking out towards the road and the city lights. Abbacchio blushed as the man spoke

“You look like a man spiraling out of control.”

His face turned towards Abbacchio’s

This was embarrassing. He wanted to talk to this man so bad and yet not under circumstances like this. He turned his head towards the pavement. What could he say, lie? He laughed.  
“Yeah.”

Bruno smiled at him.  
“You know, I’ve seen you around. You like the same niche interests as I do. Isn’t it weird that we haven’t introduced ourselves until now?”

Abbacchio looked up and at him. Had this man been thinking about talking to him this entire night?

“...My name is Leone Abbacchio… but I’d prefer you’d just call me Abbacchio… And you are?”

“Bruno Bucciarati…. Forgive me but I noticed that you attended this film by yourself”

Abbacchio was overwhelmed, what did he mean by that?

“Well, I usually attend these sorts of things by myself…. Isn’t it right to assume you did the same thing?”

Bruno chuckled “ I suppose I did….”

Abbacchio took his hand to wipe at his face, it was humiliating to be talking to Bruno for the first time with running mascara. He wasn’t feeling sad right now, but hopeful. Something about Bruno made him feel less despairing.

“I could smell you vaping earlier… wasn’t that… vanilla custard?”

Abbacchio was impressed.

“‘Well you know, they don’t let you smoke cigarettes in theaters these days.”  
He laughed. “I’ve been trying to cut back on smoking anyway.”

Bruno fiddled around in his jacket pocket.  
“Well I hope you don’t mind if I join you”

It was revealed that the stranger had been searching for his elegant golden juul. He took a hit and passed it to Abbacchio who obligingly partook. The night was getting better and he wanted to learn more about this mystery man.

“So…. what do you like to do for fun?”

Bruno thought about it before he answered.  
“Well, I like to critique old music, partake in good food and consider myself a patron of the arts. I’m going to see a little jazz band play on Friday at a small venue, a place called “SIStern.” have you heard of it?”

Of course Abbacchio had heard of it. Abbacchio knew of all the clubs in town and as much as he wasn’t one for making connections he was one for being seen.

“So a jazz band is going to be playing there huh? Maybe I’ll go check it out.”

Abbacchio took one more hit of the strangers vape.

They both watched the car lights pass by in the night and listened to the busy city sounds. Abbacchio broke the pause.

“You are a music critique huh? If you ever want to drop in, I run a used record shop. Of course, I have some newer albums if you want to check those out instead. It’s right down the road from here actually.”

Bruno was interested.

“Is that right? Well then I have to stop in there next time. Do you think you may have a copy of ‘Bitches Brew’ in there?”


	2. Abbacchio's son, Narancia

The alarm rang out from Abbacchio’s phone and begrudgingly woke himself up from his silent slumber. He hadn’t bothered to change out of his clothes from last night and questioned whether he should just wear them (and his smeared makeup) to work since it’d be easy and no one would know. Although…. He thought to himself… he’d know. He just couldn't bare to be seen in the same outfit twice. A shower would be refreshing anyway.

Abbacchio’s abode had been disheveled from his neglect to put clothes or dishes away and empty wine box containers he hadn’t thrown out. His break up with Risotto had turned him into a dysfunctional mess over the last week. However, last night’s events were still fresh in Abbacchio’s mind and nothing could knock him off the cloud he was on. He was positively glowing. 

They had talked over coffee after their initial introduction at the cinema and bonded over their mutual hatred for “Ska” revivalism. Abbacchio hadn’t enjoyed a conversation of this quality in a long time and couldn’t remember the last time he went out for midnight coffee with anybody. It was a real goth thing to do, coffee and vaping in the moonlight, with a charismatic man who knew all the bands Abbacchio wanted to talk about. It healed him somewhat. He exited the shower nakedly feeling baptized and looking forward to seeing him again tomorrow at the Jazz club. He changed into his fresh new clothes and headed to work with an optimistic visage. 

His record shop was in a small building complex and the front of the store had towering glass windows which would let in more light than what Abbacchio could stomach. In order to remedy the situation he put up the old record album covers along the top of the windows so when customers walked by they would know exactly what the shop was and the lighting would be diminished. His storefront didn’t have a name, you could just tell what it was. 

Unlocking the store door he hummed a little nine inch nails tune and flipped through some used records searching for “Bitches Brew”. Apparently, that was one of Bruno’s favorite albums. By divine providence someone just so happened to drop off their old record of it so Abbacchio took it out of its sleeve and threw it on the record player to begin the day. Over the next half an hour, no one came in, allowing the old man to daydream romantic scenarios over the classic jazz standards.

The daydreaming shattered when his 17 year old coworker blasted through the door, kicking it open with little finesse since his hands were full with a family size bag of trolli sour gummy worms and two cans of rockstar energy (blue). He plopped away his grocery bag of essentials onto the unmanned cash register and strolled routinely to the compartment of the store which held their collection of rap standards. Without even a sweet hello to his boss, he proceeded to rip the needle off of Abbachio’s album. Without looking at is he tossed it aside haphazardly (without putting it back in it’s sleeve) and replaced it with “Ready to Die” for the 5th time this week, all the while struggling to chew up the large mass of gummi worms he had collected in the side of his mouth. 

Narancia had worked at Abbacchio's store for over 2 years. When at 15 Narancia had dropped out of school and told Abbacchio he didn't intend on going back, he was worried for his well being and gave Narancia a position at the shop. It wasn’t as if Abbacchio need help running such a small store but as he watched Narancia grow up he was able to tell that he came from a troubled home. Narancia's dad used to bring him into the store when he was little but one day his dad stopped coming in and it was just Narancia who stayed to flip through vinyl records. He knew Narancia could use the cash, and ever since he began working there he got to know him very well. Narancia was practically family to him at this point.

“You are in a better mood today” Narancia said as he cracked open his RockStar energy drink. Sticky blue syrup erupted from the can as it had been tossed around a lot today in transit. “What’s changed?”

Abbacchio was glad he asked, he had been dying to talk about his fortunate event with someone for hours now. 

"Last night I went to see Un Chien Andalou again …."

Narancia had already begun half listening as he could tell this was going to be a boring conversation. 

"Uh-huh."

"And met someone who I'd been meaning to talk to for awhile now."

"Yeah?"  
Narancia guzzled his drink and searched threw his grocery bag housing his Switch with a slightly water damaged screen.

Abbaccio pushed forward the entirely one-sided conversation.

"He has similar music tastes and funds struggling artists. He told me he once met Banksy in person. His air about him is incredible and not only confident but charismatic."

Narancia started to play Minecraft.

"It's not just his personality which is magnetic it's impeccable drip. I've never met a person with such a good sense of fashion. His hair is cut in a bob with braids at the top. Not everybody could pull that off. I wonder if he braids his hair himself or…. It just seems difficult ..."

Beeping and whirring noises came from whatever Narancia was doing minecraft.  
Abbacchio could tell Narancia wasn’t interested in his late night daydreamy mystery man so he cut to the chase.

“Listen, Narancia, I’m not going to be here tomorrow alright? I’ll need you to man the store yourself. I’m hoping to see that guy again at the SIStern. You will be fine by yourself right?”

Narancia let out an unenthusiastic “Yep.” 

The door rang and Narancia’s eyes lit up as some familiar waltzed right in.  
“ HEY MISTA! I just saw you at the house, what are you doing here?”

“ Oh I thought I’d just drop in and see what you were up to later tonight. Fugo’s going to be here for the weekend, maybe we should grab some snacks for later.”

They both laughed because they were going to do drugs and eat snacks. It was a jolly past time where Fugo would return home every other weekend from college with some new strain of mary jane but his favorite was, for sure, purple haze. 

It wasn’t the first time where Abbacchio was cut off in his conversation with Narancia from Mista. Mista would frequently come in the store to dick around and chat with Narancia even though Narancia was practically sleeping on Mista’s couch so he saw him all the time. When he came in it normally distracted Narancia from the busy work of idly flipping through records and cassettes while Abbacchio talked to him. Abbacchio was used to it. He began to listen to the Biggy Smalls record and reflected on how he was going to get his discontinued lipstick from Risotto’s house when Risotto had been ghosting him for the last two weeks. Then again, Abbacchio had also been leaving long drawn out voicemails where you could hear him crying in between telling Risotto that he would see him in hell. 

He sighed. That lipstick was his favorite and would be incredibly dashing if he could wear it out to the club tomorrow. Bruno would appreciate it. Bruno was the kind of man who could appreciate the drip.


	3. Late night and Red flags

Abbacchio had finished leaving his two star review for the Uber driver before he had even stepped out of the vehicle. “I didn’t ask for his life story” He softly hissed to himself as he exited the vehicle and made his way towards the old chapel-turned-nightclub, the SIStern. He had visited this place many times in the past, and had even seen Bruno there on multiple accounts. When the club was in its prime, the site had held many extravagant social gatherings. However, with the routine drug busts the club had gained a reputation for, they were forced to shut down and reopen so much it drove normies away. He wondered to himself who the current club owner was….

He entered into the dim mood lighting fashionably late to avoid looking as if he was obsessed over seeing Bruno again. He didn’t want to come off too eager because that may have been a reason Risotto had gradually become disenchanted with their past relationship. There, sitting at a rickedy table pushed up beside a stained glass window was Buccirati…. Snapping his fingers in time with the jazz band that was playing at the other side of the room. His heart fluttered as the anticipation of talking with his crush became too overwhelming. The way the stained glass fractured over his mysterious date like a shattered kaleidoscope...Bruno spotted him, smiled, and smoothly motioned for him to come over, instantly shaking Abbachio out of his day dreamy trance. 

“I hope you like the band as much as I do, I personally suggested that they come play here tonight.” Bruno cupped his glass the way a confident businessman in an armani suit would. 

Abbacchio didn’t hate the music they were playing but he didn’t feel strongly about it either.

“Yeah I’ve been meaning to see them play myself” He fibbed as he worked to recall the name of the band he was listening to.  
“So you know the band members?”  
Abbachio struggled to maintain conversation.

Bruno pensively leaned back in his seat and drank from his wine glass filled with tonic water. 

“Not personally well. I attend many events here and there where I meet musicians and I just happened to discover them. I enjoyed what they were putting out and since I know the man who owns this venue I set them up with the right people and...”  
Bruno smiled with only his eyes as he put his glass down  
“Here we are.”

Abbacchio was utterly charmed. This was the kind of pretentious shit he loved. Bruno was such an influencer. He loved underground art and undiscovered musicians just as much as Abbacchio did. He caught Bruno staring at him for a moment before he looked away.  
“Is something the matter?”  
Abbacchio wore his insecurity on his sleeve. 

“No, it's just.” Bruno lifted his chin.  
“Forgive me, I’ve never seen anyone with eyes like yours before, I couldn’t stop myself.”  
Abbacchio caught Bruno blushing handsomely as he tried to move past what had transpired with some idle conversation about the band’s discography. Abbacchio was glad he had drawn clean black lines underneath his purple transitioning into yellow eyes to accentuate them tonight. In his mind he had stopped listening to Bruno, he was flooded with feelings. It was impossible to focus on what was going on. 

The musicians played on while they talked in the unsanctified church about old movies and independent events that they had each attended in the past. Both of them questioned why neither of them had spoken up until now when many of the time they had attended the same events. Maybe it was the right time and place that they had met each other the other night, a fortunate event for a tall, dejected, and sad Abbacchio. Through the time they spent listening to the band it was undeniable that Bruno was glad Abbacchio had shown up tonight. Bruno laughed and was amused by Abbacchio’s cynical commentary. They genuinely enjoyed each other’s company. 

During a fleeting moment where the band was just about to begin the next song, a jarring ring sounded from Buccirati’s jacket pocket.  
“Excuse me.” Bruno frowned seriously as he reached for his iphone 12.  
He took out his phone and Abbacchio couldn’t help but fleetingly glance at Bruno’s list of unanswered text messages waiting for him to be acknowledged. It couldn’t be helped, Abbacchio thought, since Bruno was such a prominent man with many connections. He saw a dark look spread over Buccirati’s face as he read them. Something important must have happened.

Bruno hid his emotions with a poker face as he suddenly stood up out of his seat.  
“I sincerely apologize Abbacchio, I have to cut this evening shorter than I had intended. I am so glad you showed up tonight.” He smiled at him  
“I hope to see you again soon.”

Unfortunately before Abbacchio could respond he had already fast walked out the SIStern exit. Abbachio sat alone in his seat as he reflected on what just transpired before him. He couldn’t puzzle it out: things had been going so well...What could have caused Buccirati to just abandon him like that. It was then that a cold and damp feeling came across Abbacchio. When would they see each other again? Buccirati didn’t have any way to get in touch with him, no phone number or anything, and certainly hadn’t scheduled a second date. Could he have been lying that he was happy Abbachio decided to tag along on his exciting and important night out? Abbachio didn’t wish to indulge these thoughts any longer. After all, maybe he would come into the record store………..however what if he didn’t. Abbacchio departed into the night to return to his unkept apartment.


	4. That's the way we get by

The time was 2 am and the room smelled of weed. The boys lounged on the upstairs couch, Fugo and Narancia lazily playing Splatoon together while Mista played the PS4. The PS4, as Bruno liked to remind them every now and again, was for the entire household to share, but the only one who played it at all was Mista who enjoyed harassing people online. It wasn’t as if Mista wouldn’t allow them to play but that he would stand behind them and tell them what they were doing wrong. It annoyed Fugo so much that he went out of his way and bought Narancia and himself a Switch with his own money. Unlike Mista, Fugo had held a job for over a year and could afford to buy himself and certain others nice things. Although Fugo would play online with Narancia when he was away at law school days like these where he could return home and play with him side by side were the best. 

The three of them had lived with each other under different individual circumstances for a good while now. Fugo had been adopted by Bruno five years ago and Mista was taken in as a foster child three years ago. Mista and Fugo got along well enough, Mista never provoking him too badly, but his best friend and someone he’d consider a closer brother was Narancia. This was ironic because Narancia wasn’t actually adopted by Bruno. It was Fugo who had met Narancia when he was sleeping at a park and immediately felt sympathy for the dumb kid. Fugo took Bruno aside knowing that he would understand that Narancia needed help, and more often than not, Narancia would crash at their house. All three of the boys had been growing up together under the care of Bruno to a large degree. As deeply as they appreciated him, and knew that he would hate it, they liked to smoke pot in his house. Narancia and Mista were not worried about getting caught but Fugo was bracing himself for the day that they would be discovered. The three of them knew how strongly Bruno felt about drugs as a whole. 

Nonetheless, weekends were the best days to smoke. It was predictable that Bruno and Prosciutto would be out late on a friday night. The boys knew they could get away with smoking in the house on days like these. Prosciutto would normally go manage the SIStern and Bruno would be out at parties and social gatherings making connections. When the couple went out together, people in the night life business would comment on the sheer presence they had when they would enter a room. Even though Prosciutto had been living with his boyfriend Bruno for over the past five years he wasn’t very involved in the boys' lives. Still, Fugo was wary of him since Bruno had begun dating him around the same time as he had been adopted and Prosciutto still wasn’t involved in Buccirati’s family matters. 

They were all having a jolly good time gaming when Narancia’s ringtone began to chime. They all looked at each other, blank faced and quiet, trying to decide whether or not they should pick it up but before long it went to voicemail.

“I’m sure it wasn't important” Narancia said aloud reassuringly  
“I mean, the only one who ever calls me is Abbacchio so I mean, like, it’s probably fine.”

Fugo scolded him  
“That’s not really a good work ethic to have Narancia.”  
Mista, gazing into the bright colors flashing from the tv set, spoke up for his friend  
“Hey, hey, hey, Narancia is doing fine at work, Abbaccio said he could run the store by himself, Isn’t that right Narancia?”

Narancia didn’t speak because he didn’t realize anyone was talking to him. 

An unexpected door slammed and the boys felt a sudden shock as they realized either Prosciutto or Bruno was home. It felt like a lifetime had passed while they waited patiently to listen if anyone was coming up the stairs. Fortunately, whomever had returned home had gone to their room and seemingly gone to bed for the night. The boys went back to their regularly scheduled unproductive fun time.  
The next morning, Fugo was shaking Narancia awake.  
“Come on! It’s already 10:00am! How many times do I have to tell you to get up before you actually do it? Doesn’t the store open earlier than that?!”

Narancia brushed him off, aggravatedly.  
“ Relax! Abbaccio doesn’t even mind if I come in late and he isn’t even going to be there today so “

Narancia looked at him in the eyes before jerking the covers back over himself.  
“Stop it already!”

Fugo hated this. He went downstairs to get a cup of water, walked up the stairs, and poured it all over his best friend’s face.

“You’ll never make it in the real world if you don’t fucking grow up!”  
In the same couch as last night, Mista, whom hadn't even gone to bed and was still playing the same videogame, laughed.  
“That’s right Naranica! What will you ever do?”

Fugo snapped  
“That’s rich coming from you!!! Don’t encourage him!”

He really didn’t want to lose his temper but he was concerned. If Narancia couldn’t hold a job where the boss was incredibly lenient towards him then how could he survive in the future. He knew Narancia could do better and was worried Mista was being a bad influence while he was away at college. 

Fugo tried to calm himself down.  
“Well, you are probably late, although I tried to wake you up for the last hour, but you can only be late once, so the damage has already been done, isn’t that right….”

Narancia wiped his sleepy eyes as he stood up from the couch. 

“Listen Fugo…. Abbaccio probably closed the store today anyway. He does that.”

“He just closes the store randomly?”

Narancia sighed  
“Yeah like whenever he gets a hangover, or has had a bad day, or ….”

He became agitated  
“ya know, for whatever reason! He probably had a bad date last night and was all”

Narancia poorly mimicked the 40 year old man  
“ Narancia, don’t bother opening the store. Nothing matters, I don’t matter, no one will ever love me”  
Narancia struck a pose not unlike an old decrepit man struggling to find love. It was uncanny and Mista laughed drowsily while pointing.  
“Hey Narancia you’re pretty good at that. It looks just like him.”  
Fugo’s expression remained still. 

“Look I’ll check the voicemail, but I’m telling you, he’s closed the shop.”  
Narancia took his phone out of his jacket pocket which was tied around his waist. A few moments later, he laughed louder than he ought to have.

“Called it! He closed the store after all!”  
Narancia announced triumphantly.

Fugo gripped his forehead.

“So he really closes his place of business whenever he feels upset? How does he even make money then?”

Narancia chuckled.  
“You know, I don’t think he even cares about money. It sounded like whatever happened last night really upset him tho.”

“Didn’t he call you really late last night? That’s a strange time to call your coworker.”  
Mista, inquired, half awake.

Narancia thought about it.  
“Well, he did say he was going to be out real late and that he wasn’t going to be at the store in the morning. I guess his date went south or something.”

Mista interjected  
“Abbacchio is dating again? He just broke up with that other guy!”  
He turned off the playstation, finally deciding to get some rest.  
“I hope the old man isn’t rebounding.”

“Well when he was talking about him, the new guy seems pretty cool. He likes music and art and stuff. He was like, fashionable and get this, had a bob with braids just like Buccirarti, that’s fucking weird right?”

Fugo and Mista were silent. It was Mista who spoke up.  
“Now, now, now Narancia…. Come on…. Someone else around here has a bob with braids? Is that what you are saying?”  
He belittled Narancia in a slightly amused but doubtful tone.

Narancia wasn’t sure what was so hard to believe about this and became defensive.  
“Well that’s how I remember Abbacchio describing him to me so I don’t know what to tell you.”

Mista was suspicious but having not slept in so long decided to let it slide and began to catch his z’s. Fugo, however, was alarmed by this slew of information but wasn’t allowing Narancia to see it. He remembered that someone had entered the house late last night around the same time the phone rang, but since he was high, maybe his concept of time was a bit skewed. Was it Bruno returning home from a bad date with someone last night? It troubled him greatly but Fugo was willing to believe that Bruno may be looking outside of his relationship with Prosciutto. Bruno wasn’t known to be promiscuous or a cheater but he was a socialite and it was obvious to Fugo that his relationship with his long time boyfriend had been in jeopardy for far too long now.


	5. And if you go chasing rabbits....

Prosciutto adjusted the cufflinks on his special suit, examining himself in the mirror as it was well past 4 o’clock and he could not be caught dead in anything but a fitted tuxedo at this time. It was not only mandatory to dress formally when one manages a nightclub, but it was a detail he genuinely took pleasure in. He smized at himself as he secured his mini-buns in his gelled blond hair. He looked clean, professional, and down right classy-- just the way he liked to present himself. His therapeutic me-time came to an abrupt end as Bruno opened the door to their bedroom and shut it with a crisp finality. He was pressed, probably from certain secret events that transpired the night before.  
Prosciutto lifted his delicate man hands away from his updo, styled not unlike a fine sturdy thoroughbred stallion one may be lucky enough to see at the races.  
“Bruno.”  
He turned slowly, reluctant to tear his attention from his reflection in the joint bedroom/bathoom mirror.  
“I’ve been thinking. As I’m sure you’ve noticed, the den needs a new painting. I don’t have anything specific in mind, but I need it fixed.”  
Bruno said nothing, standing with his back turned stiffly, facing his chest of drawers.  
Prosciutto paused.  
“Maybe now’s not the time.”  
He readjusted his cufflinks.

“Prosciutto..”  
Bruno had tilted his chin downward, in an angle which obscured the color of his eyes.  
“I’m worried about the boys.. Last night…”  
Bruno couldn’t even finish his sentence as he seemed to struggle with finding the right words to continue. He left his thought incomplete.

“What, were they past their curfew?”  
Prosciutto drew his brows together in concern.  
Do they even have a bedtime or….”  
He racked his brain. He just did not understand whatever the boys had done that could disturb their father so.

“.... is it a dietary concern? Because I’ve noticed that the one who likes to wear orange eats a lot of unrefined carbs-”

Bruno waved his hand in irritation, stopping him…

“No. It’s nothing like that…”  
Bruno folded his hands slowly together in front of him, his face still obscured.  
“The house smelled like dank weed last night….”

There was a soundless pause as Prosciutto began to determine where this conversation was leading. He knew how very strongly his partner felt about drugs but since they had been in the night scene for so long Prosciutto thought he would have grown desensitized by now. In fact, last night it was Prosciutto himself who had called Bruno as back-up in a drug dealing dispute at his club. It wasn’t just weed that the drug peddlers were pushing at his establishment, it was also Prosciutto’s vice; fine grade Columbian nose candy. He couldn’t act surprised to hear that the boys were doing weed in their father’s house and thought it was kind of weird of Bruno to confide in him about this concern.

“Bruno, don’t tell me you blame them. Think of when you were their age.”

His partner grew red in the face, clenching his fists,trying not to speak before he thought. He calmed himself as best he could.

“They are my children and if I say no drugs, then they shouldn’t be doing drugs. It’s that simple. My house. My rules.”

Prosciutto stared blankly, unimpressed and walked up to his significant other to put a hand on his shoulder. Bruno was sure to have smelled his Ralph Lauren cologne at this intimate level of closeness.  
“Bruno. I’d understand if you want to punish the boys. Although personally, in our line of business, I feel it’s a bit hypocritical to penalize them over some harmless college boys’ weed.”

His partner removed his hand from his shoulder. “ Are you insinuating it was Fugo who brought it into my house?”

Prosciutto was becoming disgruntled. “It’s as good of a guess as any other however, it wouldn’t surprise me if the boy who lived in the park did. Or Mista. You’ve seen Mista right?”

Bruno took a backwards step, stunned at the audacity of his partners cold words. He managed to collect himself enough to excuse his leave as he exited the house. Prosciutto could tell he had struck a nerve with his boyfriend, but it had annoyed him for sometime now at how incredibly sensitive he was when it came to drugs. It was just a part of life. If he was this bothered by his sons experimentation, Bruno should maybe reconsider his occupational choices, he thought.

He headed out of the estate and adjusted his brightly colored spanish orange freshly pressed shirt so that you may sneak a peak of his chest though his dark tux. The SIStern wouldn’t open until around 9 but he had some business to take care of. It was saturday night, after all, which is when his joint would get the most revenue. But in order to make certain of that fact, the scene had to be hyped. And he knew just the person to get it started.

Melone was seated in a Mcdonalds booth sipping a sierra mist in his splendid get-up that shone more like a costume would. Throngs of multi colored beads cascaded around his neck and wrists, creating a sound not unlike a waterfall of cheap plastic. He wore a long sleeved color-blocked mesh tee which was red on the left, yellow on the right, and on the front, in blue chubby font said “Aquarious”. He was typing something on his purple laptop which was littered with stickers from various bands and bumper stickers of places he had never been to but had purchased off some society 6 shop. Prosciutto pushed open the glass doors, smelled the nuggets, and made a beeline for the clown. For whatever reason, Prosciutto had caught him using incognito mode and looked away before he alerted Melone of his presence.

“You’re heading over to the SIStern later tonight, aren't you?” Prosciutto inquired.  
Melone pushed himself back in his seat, fingers still hovering casually over his keyboard.  
“Absolutely. Of course, there was a little confrontation with one of the drug dealers last night wasn't there?”

Melone cocked his head to the side and allowed his silky lilac hair to theatrically spin with him as he turned all the way around in his seat to face his familiar coworker.

“I’ve already begun hearing it through the grapevine. That guy was a friend of a friend of a friend of mine’s cousin! Shame he had to get the shit kicked out of him like that. Missing a tooth or two is a small price to pay for trying to hold you up at gunpoint though.”

Prosciutto put his hands on his hips, looked towards the linoleum floor, and then back again at Melone, frustrated.

“I don’t know what you’ve heard but get your facts straight. Let me tell you what actually transpired.”

He sat himself down beside Melone in an uncomfortable, plastic Mcdonalds seat.

“Admittedly: I was a little coked up you see, it was friday night after all, and our club’s drug dealer came back to dispute that I underpaid on the 8 ball I bought him off earlier.”

Melone wasn’t shocked but a bit surprised since this wasn’t the story he had heard through his many social circles.

“So, you’re telling me he wasn’t crazy high himself? You didn’t pay him the money he asked for, is that correct?”

“I didn’t believe it was right that I should have to pay him regular’s price when I am functionally his boss.”

Melone’s eyes narrowed as he sipped his drink through the straw with a loud slurping noise. Prosciutto ignored this and continued.

“... I know what you are thinking. It isn’t as if I don’t get paid for letting those drug dealers work at the club. They also have the Boss’s protection so ...”

Melone interrupted.  
“I get why you did it. You knew you could probably get away with it. You weren’t expecting he would pull a gun on you himself, the crazy fuck. He really ought to have told the Boss instead of going all lone wolf on you.”

Melone laughed.  
“I know that you and Bruno only bruised and battered him enough to get sent to the hospital but you never know, the Boss might make it so he is out of commission for life.”

He winked deliberately at his coworker.  
“If you know what I’m saying.”  
He chuckled as he went back on to his laptop, revealing that he had been playing old school runescape, and nudged Prosciutto with his elbow.  
“Man the Boss only hires dumb folks looking to get murdered am I right?”

Prosciutto didn’t care about whatever happened to the drug dealer. It would just mean some other replaceable peddler would start showing up to frequent his club. Bruno hated the drug dealers and whenever they showed up, he would push them away, making it more of a bummer venue to go to these days. It also meant that Prosciutto wouldn’t get his cut from the Boss. Every club owner around here was at the mercy of an all-knowing ever-watching presence that they respectfully referred to as the “Boss”. This man had every connection: from molly to coke, to weed at varying grades of potency, and would pay every club owner for his men to work there. Of course if they refused, they could be blackmailed or shut down by his invisible influence. As much as he talked to Bruno about the revenue he lost and the risk he took by pushing the peddlers away, Bruno would never concede,and continued in his stubborn ways. Bruno’s straight edginess was getting in the way of his profits and honestly, his own personal interest in cocaine. He began to wonder what was even keeping them together at this point.


	6. Thoughts from the big thinking chair

Bucchirati was returning home with an impulsively purchased jamba juice under the impression it was a healthy way to cope with the all-consuming rage that engulfed him from his last conversation with Prosciutto. It was transparent how his significant other took an apathetic, hand’s-off approach towards the boys, and telling him to “just get over” their drug use just because it “was in Bucchirati’s line of work” made him seethe. Bucciaratti didn’t want the boys to be influenced by the darker side of the music scene and feared that it may culminate in addiction someday. He wanted them to grow up and do the things they individually loved, which for Fugo, was law school. Fugo sure did love his future career of legally telling telling people they were wrong. Bruno shuddered, thinking about what would happen to Fugo’s scholarships if he was discovered to be housing a shit ton of weed in his dorm. Prosciutto had practically told Bruno to care less about them boys and maybe even that it was he who was a bad influence on them since he was so invested in the art and music scenes. It was even more infuriating since it was Prosciutto who was coked up last night, and now he was shoving life lessons in Bruno’s face. The children Bruno loved so much were not valued by his partner at all.

He couldn’t pretend to put up with Prosciutto’s bullshit any longer. He clenched his styrofoam cup so hard that the liquidized spinach, celery, and apple combination began to leak out from the breakage around the sides. He threw it in the garbage before making his way down the hallway. It was at times like these that only going to his study and putting on his favorite records could pacify the handsome man. The study was entirely Bruno’s lair, large abstract paintings from prominent artists that he bid for at art auctions were hung on the wall save for the framed online business degree Prosciutto proudly displayed on a small corner of the room. He entered his study and went over to his collection of old record albums, lined uniformly in a row, categorized by the time they were released. What he wanted to listen to so badly was “Bitches Brew”. Perhaps he had left it at a party he attended but he couldn’t find it anywhere. Buchiratti shuddered to think that Prosciutto might have taken it to the club on some random Friday night and lord only knows, done lines of coke on it.

He threw himself in his big thinking chair, the one he used right before making important life decisions, and pondered. What was he going to do with Prosciutto. If he finally chose to break up with him they would have to figure out how to split their shared assets. And the boys… how was he going to address that he discovered they had been toking away behind their fathers back...The silence from neglecting to put any record on left him feeling uneasy and he shifted around in his seat trying to get comfortable. Then a thought struck him. Abbacchio had a record shop in walkable distance from here that he had still yet to visit. Although this morning had made him tense, the opportunity to see his new friend made him feel comforted. Leone was like a balm to Bucchiratti’s hurt spirits.

Bruno walked down the street he was led to believe Abbacchio’s store was located on, although it was difficult, since Abbacchio refused to put a sign up or even name his place of business. It was during this stroll that he remembered Narancia held a job close to the house where he was a cashier to a used music store. There couldn’t be more than one used music store so close to each other, not in 2019. He chuckled to himself. “Well, well” he thought “it seems Narancia and Abbacchio know each other”.

The old sun damaged album covers that lined the top of the store’s windows gave away the elusive shop. Even though the lights were off, it sounded as if he could hear the muted sounds of a somber trumpet playing off of an old scratchy vinyl. He was disheartened to find the doors locked but someone had to be there. Abbacchio had to be in there. No one else could be playing music in a shop that they had locked up.

Bruno thought to himself… it seemed as if the poor man wanted to be left alone. Would it be wrong to interrupt whatever was going on inside? He tapped his foot, put his hands on his hips, and looked towards the sky as he mulled over what he was going to decide to do. It wouldn’t hurt to alert Abbacchio of his presence. With several firm knocks, Bruno waited at the door. Nothing. He stood around for a few minutes. He knocked once more, one final time.

A baritone voice snapped all the way at the other end of the shop.  
“We’re CLOSED, don’t you get it? The light’s aren’t on, no one is up front!”  
The voice transitioned to a louder volume as the tall figure grew less silhouetted from the shadows of the back end of the store. As he approached the front end’s tall glass windows Abbacchio grew horrified at shouting when he saw Bruno standing their. Quickly he hurried over to the door to let him in.

Abbacchio slammed open the doors, beat red in the face, Bruno recognized what album was playing now.

“...Forgive me Abbacchio, but that sounds like the soothing songs of Miles Davis….”

It was true, it was Bitches Brew.


	7. Nights in White Satin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song for the Phil Collins record is
> 
> "I can feel it coming in the air tonight"

Abbacchio was overwrought with embarrassment. Was this seriously happening now before his very eyes…? Admittedly, he had hoped that Bruno would remember his record shop and stop by for a quick rendez-vous to amend for the night before, but Leone had convinced himself that Bucciarati just would not be able to spare the time for something so trivial. And yet….  
Suddenly, he was face-to-face with the brilliant, stylish, beautiful man just as the very album he had mentioned as his favorite had been put on in order to reminisce about their brief time together. It must have been evident to Bucciarati that he had been playing Bruno’s record in the dark of the store, allowing his thoughts to wander... thinking about him. Abbacchio dragged himself insecurely to the side of the front door and put his hand in his face to hide his blushing.

Bruno did not appear bothered. His expression was more confused, albeit appreciative. Like a gentleman, he broke the awkward silence. 

“I don't know if you will believe me, but I’ve been wanting to listen to this album all day. Is it alright to come in, or are you preoccupied...?”

Abbacchio tried to reign in his emotions despite firmly believing that Bruno must know how transparent his thoughts about him were. He quietly ushered him inside the store, beckoning him to enter his record shop, allowing his glossy purple nails to catch light from the outside.

“No. It’s fine.. I was just doing some house cleaning, please come in…. I’ll turn on some lights.”

Of course Abbacchio didn’t turn the overhead lights on. If he did, it would be all too apparent how poorly Abbacchio had been taking care of himself. He hadn’t expected to see anyone today, so he had neglected to blend in his concealer, and by this time of day it had already begun to crease. Today was going to be one of the many days he locked himself in his store surrounded only by his many records to attempt to ride out (but normally exacerbate) his bad mood. He turned on the old yellowed lamps and made his way to the well-loved couches. It was important to Abbacchio that his store was cool and hip, the kind that had an area to just chill, listen to a full album, and just chill. Both the lamps and the couch were bought on a weekday thrifting spree and although they were worn and smelled like dust, they were vintage and, as he thought, charming. They were located at the back of the store where the shop’s record player was. He hoped that if Bruno was willing, they could talk awhile back there.

“I believe Narancia has told me about this place.” Bucciarati mused as he looked around at the uncleaned walls and casually stopped down the rows of records.

Abbacchio was taken back.  
“Narancia? You mean, 5 ft 3, carries around that orange jacket, wears that garish bandana?”  
Bucciarati’s eyes lit up slightly as he lifted his chin in the affirmative. 

“How do you know Narancia??”

Bruno smiled and took a small inhale, considering where he should begin.  
“Well, he started staying at my place on-and-off a few years ago, and since then my boys have begun to see him more as a brother. But to me, he is practically my son.” 

Abbacchio was caught off guard. His heart began to sink at the possibility that, if Bruno had sons, that he was a taken man. It was equally shocking to learn that he had confided in Narancia that he was interested in said father figure and Narancia just didn't care or understand apparently.  
“So you have children...”

“Yes, I began adopting and fostering when obama was president .”  
Abbachio nodded knowingly.  
“Those were the good times.” He muttered.

Bruno agreed and continued his train of thought.

“I don’t mean this as a brag, Abbacchio, I mean this as a simple statement. I am well off. And because I am, it is only right that I help others out as best as I am capable.”

Abbacchio chewed on that philosophy. Bruno was a very considerate individual with upstanding values that only the best sort of people had. When Bucciarati saw people, he thought about how he could better their lives. Undeniably, Bruno was a good man with an open, generous, heart.

Bucciarati sat down in the worn sofa chair with a faint gesture of exhaustion. His favorite music was playing and he appreciated it in silence. It was apparent he was thinking hard.

"Is everything alright..?" Abbacchio’s intuitive side could not help but ask.  
Bucchirati proceeded to put his hand on his head.

"I don't mean to burden you with my troubles. I just have a lot going on at home right now."  
Bruno laid it all out. 

Abbacchio could empathize. He didn't want to be a burden for other people either. He just genuinely wanted to know what was nagging at this handsome and mysterious gentleman.

"I know that we haven't known each other for long and most of our conversation has been idle commentary on music but…"  
He sat down on the sofa chair beside Bruno's.  
"I truly want to know what is eating at you".

Bruno paused before giving a thankful smile. Maybe it was the subtle scent of frankincense laden on Abbacchio’s wrists, but something about the 41 year old man just made Bruno want to air out all his vulnerabilities.

"Last night a lot transpired.”  
Bruno’s dark visage lifted to face Abbacchio, his smartly cut bob tilting away from his previously obscured expression.  
“I hadn’t expected to learn my children were smoking fat jays upstairs when I came home".

It was selfish, but Abbacchio was immediately relieved that he wasn't the reason for Bruno’s abrupt exit. 

"I've told them many times before they aren't allowed to bring narcotics into my home-- they don't normally behave so disrespectfully. I didn't expect that I'd have to reiterate this since they normally adhere to my rules"

Abbacchio thought about how Narancia and Mista would come into his shop and openly talk about getting high. Abbacchio sympathized with the boys but he could see how Bruno believed this as dangerous and risky. What if his children were hurt under his care? It would be a father’s worst nightmare to see his children get hurt when he is responsible for their safety. But they were growing up, and could not be completely sheltered from the real world. 

"Forgive me if this is too forward Bucciarati. I think what you are experiencing is a common problem for dads when they have children around Narancia’s age."  
Bruno gave Abbacchio a curious and slightly apprehensive look.

"I know Narancia. He’s been working for me for a couple of years now and I’m beginning to watch him grow up. He isn’t completely a kid anymore and because of that, he has decisions he has to make for himself. He isn’t thinking about how those decisions affect others because the boy just isn’t mature yet. He’s still a stupid kid, and I’ll be there for him the best I can. Just like Narancia, your boys are probably trying to figure out what is right for themselves.”

Bruno was really flabbergasted. He frowned for a moment before turning his face away from Abbachio once more. 

"You may be right…..”

He allowed a weighty pause to transpire, looking through the rows of albums. .

"I like the way you think."

The approaching middle aged goth was glad that he was able to help Bucciarati with the sticky situation he had found himself in. Bruno still looked serious, but more relieved than before as he ran his finger over the dust that had collected on the albums resting nearby. 

“Abbacchio, you may not be aware of it, but I believe you helped me reach a solution to some troubling problems today..”

Bucciarati tilted his head and smiled slightly, making complete eye contact. His sapphire eyes pierced through Abbacchio, causing him to stiffen his posture. These were the eyes of a man who commanded respect. 

“O-oh? A good one, I hope.”  
He muttered, tearing his gaze away, furrowing his brow.

“Yes. I believe so.”  
Bruno gave an affirming smile. 

It was dusk and the windows to the shop allowed a serine evening glow to shine through. The Miles Davis album had finished playing and they began to search the store for their favorite albums so that they can show each other what their most well-loved songs were. It was during this time where Abbacchio was reaching for a Phil Collin’s record when Bruno stopped him by grasping his hand.

“I think I know which track is your favorite on this album”  
Bruno smirked.  
“If it’s the one I think it is, I’m a a really big fan too.”


	8. Bruno's Trials and Tribulations

This Sunday night was different. Bucciarati normally would have chosen the weekends for partaking in art exhibitions or supporting Prosciutto at the SIStern, however change was in the air. Tonight Bruno had hired the normally weekdays personal chef to make a family style dinner and had told Fugo and Mista that they were expected to show up at the table at 7:30 sharp. Narancia was invited but not pressured in to it since he was not his child legally and since he didn’t show up he too must have gotten the feeling something was off about tonight’s dinner. Bucciarati could read the hesitance on Fugo's face as he took his seat at the head of the table. Mista didn't seem apprehensive as he had been ready to eat all day with the chef shooing him out of kitchen as he grabbed little pieces of sausage off the plates he was serving. 

Bucciarati thought he could brake Fugo's tension by not jumping straight into his difficult conversation with them. He began serving himself food.

"Mista, how are things going outside of school for you?"

Mista leaned back in his seat and thought about it while munching on some bruschetta.

" Well! Narancia and I were going to go lazer tagging tonight but he had something come up. Of course, I really doubt that was true.”

Fugo muttered under his breath and put his head in his hand. “It’s because you are too old for that it’s embarrassing”  
Mista caught that and snapped back.

“You can’t grow too old for lazer tag Fugo! You must be becoming too BORING!!” 

Bruno could tell he wasn’t going to be able to lay down the law if the two of them started bickering. He decided it would be best to just go forward with it now.

“Look. Could one of you tell me what happened Friday night?”

They both shut up and seemed pensive, staring into their plates of food, thinking of excuses.  
Mista spoke up first to Fugo’s dismay.  
“Wellllllll, lemme seem, we…. We were watching heartwarming videos of soldiers returning home to their dogs ! and welllll…”

Fugo, restraining his irritation and trying to find anything plausible besides youtubing all night chimed in.  
“We were playing videogames, wasn’t that right?”  
Mista’s eyes lit up.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah! That’s right fugo! We WERE playing video games. Friday night was kind of a good time honestly”  
Bucciarati nodded his head.

“I believe both of what you say has some truth to it but….”  
His hand was gripping something palm sized and as he placed it on the right side of his dinner plate, beside the salad fork, it was revealed to be the boy’s weed.

“ I believe this was also present in Friday night’s ventures!” 

Mista chewed his food impressively fast and Fugo began to sweat in what was either his temper getting the best of him or his anxiety rising.  
“Fugo, I found this in a hollowed out book tucked away underneath your desk.”

Fugo was frustrated.  
“ How did you find that ...Why were you going through my possessions??”

Bucciarati tried to appeal to Fugo’s reason.

“I just want to talk about this with the both of you ,drugs are….”

Fugo stood up out of his seat. Mista continued to eat and just observe what was going on, thankful that the attention was off of him.

“It’s my room, my stuff, and you went through it.”

Bruno tried to remain level headed.  
“Let me finish Fugo.”

Fugo was about to storm out of the dining room but Bucciarati’s voice stopped him halfway there.  
“You are aware how often I’ve told you that drugs are prohibited in our household, we need to talk about this right now.”

Fugo turned around with a speed that would have given most people whiplash, red in the face.  
“Then let’s talk. What were you doing Friday night, Dad?”

Bruno was caught off guard.  
After a moment of hesitation he decided he couldn’t let Fugo take control of the conversation.

“I’m the one asking questions here Fugo, you have no right to …”

Fugo interrupted, seething, and looked at Mista as he shouted.

“Why don’t you tell dad what you heard Narancia tell us?”

Mista looked around the dining room to avoid making eye contact with his brother, chewing as he spoke.  
“ …. Don’t bring me into this ….”

Fugo looked right back at Bucciarati.  
“We heard you were out with another man the other night! Is that true?”

Bruno paused.  
Somehow Fugo and Mista had gotten wind of him hanging out with Abbacchio. Of course Friday night wasn’t a date or anything he was just getting to know the guy. But… he knew in his heart, it wasn’t just a completely platonic outing. There was a hint of guilt when Bruno respond.

“I was just out with a friend..”

Fugo yelled.  
“A FRIEND? Really? Just a friend? Because that’s not how Narancia described how Abbacchio sees you!”

Bruno stopped.  
“Excuse me?”

Mista coughed on his food, shocked Fugo went there. 

But Fugo pressed forward.

“And Prosciutto! What about him huh? I know he never took any interest in what I was upto but I’ve gotten use to the guy! What’s going on with you?! Cheating?! And I’m the one with the problem? Me, with the weed?! It’s not as terrible as you think it is!!” 

Bruno slammed his hands on the table. This conversation had gone on for far long enough.  
“It would be in your best interest if you’d stop right there.”

Fugo scoffed.  
“MY best interest?! YOU are deciding...MY best interest.”  
Mista watched as Fugo began to hyperventilate and noticing no one would be passing him the butter reached over the table to take it.

Fugo ran up the stairs to his room, slammed his door, and loud noises of things moving and breaking could be heard from below.

Bucciarati could not let Mista see how affected he was by Fugo’s outburst. He took his leave but not before telling Mista that he would talk about this with him later. Mista sighed, as he took what he wanted off of Fugo’s plate and on to his.

As Bruno walked towards his room that he shared with Prosciutto he began to consider why Fugo would be upset with him seeing Abbacchio. It wasn’t as if he planned on being unfaithful to Prosciutto… but.

He sat down on the bed before lying out on it, giving a deep inhale and exhale.  
He had already decided to cut ties with Prosciutto long ago and only now was getting around to it. 

He lied on his bed and stared at the ceiling.  
So Abbacchio had told Narancia that he had feelings for him….

He gripped the covers of the bed. He was happy to learn this but…  
He was burdened. His relationship with Prosciutto had to end…  
How was Fugo going to take the news….  
And Prosciutto….  
Bruno was exhausted. So much in his life was changing for better or worse. All he wanted right now was for Abbacchio to be lying here with him, telling him whatever he had told Narancia, how he actually thought about him.


	9. Built to Spill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ☥♡ Happy Halloween Babes I hope it's going super satanic over there aaaah ♡☥

Prosciutto successfully woke up Melone who had been lying there on the floor of his desecrated church turned nightclub. When shaking him awake gently didn’t work, a moderately forceful kick did. He had blacked out at some point between one or two am after he had convinced Prosciutto to let him turn on some old school acid house and early 2000s Cascada. It wasn’t Prosciutto’s normal speed but Melone liked to DJ every now again and the crowd wasn’t opposed to it. Melone would get wasted like this often but luckily this time he was fully clothed and Prosciutto helped drag him up to a seat.

“It’s time for you to go home Melone, it’s 6am. I’ve been here long enough, I have to lock the doors.”

Melone blindly looked through his pockets and finally found his extra strength Tylenol along with some Adderal and tried his best to wake up.

“Prosciutto… let’s go to McDonalds and go get those little hashbrowns…lets get one of those hello Kitty toys” his purple hair was covering half of his face, greasy like those hashbrowns.  
Prosciutto wasn’t a fan of fast food like his friend was, or small plastic figurines, he shook his head in exasperation.

“I’m heading home, it would behoove you to do the same and also to take a shower.”

Prosciutto tried to imagine what kind of house Melone lived in… an apartment? A trailer? Probably a dumpster. 

Melone gathered his translucent jelly purple purse from the back of the office and looked back at Prosciutto.  
“I’m headed to the only place you can find McDonalds sprite and convenience store MnMs…. The combination Mcdonalds Gas Station …. Besides there is a bathroom I can re-do my make up there...”

Whatever. Melone could take care of himself. Prosciutto watched as the man in his tight fitting outfit slid out into the dawn rising over the streets. He left as well, passing by the people who got up early to jog and the others who were returning home from staying up all night. 6 am was the only time sinners could get a glimpse of what the wholesome did. He loved this energy. 

Prosciutto opened the doors to the magnificent house Bruno and him shared together. He looked at the paintings on the wall that they had bought together and the sofa that they had taken from the movie set of some Wes Anderson Film, he couldn’t remember which one, what was important was how stylish and 70s it looked. 

He was surprised to find Bruno sitting on this couch in the living room at this time, dressed in one of his casual outfits, with a french coffee press, sugar bowl, some cream, and two mugs ready on the coffee table. He was waiting for Prosciutto and guessing by the exhaustion in his eyes, all night.

“You’re up early.”

“Have a seat, I made coffee.”

Prosciutto didn’t want any coffee, he wanted to go to sleep. He was coming down from only the itty teeny tiny speck of cocaine he had had earlier that night. 

“Thanks, but I’m going to bed.

Bruno poured a cup of coffee for himself as Prosciutto strolled towards the master bedroom.

There lying on the bed rested a fully packed suitcase. 

Prosciutto really fast walked back into the living room where Bruno had a fixed his gaze on the elegant french coffee press before him, next to the bowl of freshly plucked tuscan plums.

Prosciutto cleared his throat.  
“You didn’t tell me you were going anywhere anytime soon. Is there an event abroad I wasn’t aware of.”

Bruno continued to focus at the coffee press and he took a sip of his coffee before responding. 

“The suitcase… is for you.”

He had surmised that was the case. Prosciutto was overwrought with emotion but refused to let his feelings control him.

“...where do you expect that I go?...”

Bruno crossed his legs.  
“That isn’t any concern to me.” 

Prosciutto, tired and being kicked out of his house, took his suitcase but not before letting Bruno know how wronged he was. 

“I don’t understand why this is happening now. I know we haven’t been doing well for awhile but where is this coming from… now all of a sudden?”

Bruno went to grab his juul from his pants pocket. It annoyed Prosciutto, Bruno wouldn’t smoke a cigar or even a cigarette, he just had to vape. 

“You are a bad influence on the kids…. I plan on signing the adoption papers for Mista soon and I can’t have a significant other getting high on cocaine every night. Get your coke out of the house too while you’re at it otherwise it's getting flushed down the toilet.”

Prosciutto was astonished. So what if he had his vice, everyone does. Did Bruno not respect everything else he did? Sure in recent years their behavior was more transactional than passionate but did he not appreciate him at all? Did he not enjoy those nights were they had gone out to venues and come across undiscovered talent? Wasn’t it fun to promote clubs? Wasn’t the sex good? Bruno used to be ambitious but once he began adopting children he started yearning for a dull, predictable, domestic life. Screw this...

“You know what….”

Prosciutto went to the door.  
“.... you’ve lost your edge Bucciarati.”

He slammed the front door. Prosciutto sat his suitcase down and fell down on his knees, grasping his hands on his head. Where was he going to go, he was so tired, this is all happening too fast….  
Risotto…. He gathered himself together and took his suitcase… He could head over to Risotto’s and crash on his couch for awhile.


	10. I Wanna Be Adored

He placed the black roses in the vase by the window which was the final step in completing his cleaning spree. He plucked several of the petals and placed them beside the bottom of the glass vase to add a bit of nuance. Beautiful. What a juxtaposition, the imperfection, undeniably beautiful. He cracked a crooked smile, the only kind of smile he could give. Life was getting better. Abbacchio had thrown out all of the empty wine boxes, washed all of his clothes, dusted off and polished his silver candlesticks, as well as thrown out all the old food in the refrigerator he had neglected since he kept eating out. He couldn’t keep his apartment in disrepair any longer, Bucciarati was coming over and they were going to go see a two-man performance of the stage play ‘’Waiting for Godot’.

His cleaning playlist was mostly Bauhaus mixed with some industrial music for his idyllic melancholy romantic vampiric atmosphere. The candles that he lit were black licorice scented. The apartment could have used some febreeze but there was no place for the cheap off putting fragrance of febreeze in his household. It had to be anything else and licorice candles were black so that would have to do. 

In the bathroom, Abbacchio had left a corset out to dry. It seemed dry enough so he took it from the shower curtain rod and decided to put it away in one of his drawers. In the drawer he wanted to put the garment in there laid a memory box. Feeling nostalgic, he took it out of his dresser drawer and sat it on his bed. 

Removing the lid he pulled out an old black rosary. Senior year of high school he began going out to goth clubs and Abbacchio would always find away to wear this accessory. Good times good times. He put the plastic relic back and shifted through some aged poetry notes, vintage lace he had told himself he’d do something with eventually, and used ticket stubs to memorable concerts he had gone to. There at the bottom, he found something that was of particular interest to him. Abbacchio’s chest felt heavy. It was a Polaroid of himself and his past goth friends together, smiling, doned in their best attire, about 20 years ago. What they had was over and he could never go back to that. It was a painful reminder he didn’t have a community of friends anymore.

Abbacchio put back the photograph and the memory box in his drawers. How long had it been since he use to go to clubs and concerts together with other people? The whole scene burnt him out long ago after some he-said-she-said bullshit occurred and his friend group just stopped talking to him altogether. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t tried to get in touch with them before, his friends just slowly stopped answering his calls one by one and he gave up. It was only within the last couple of years Abbacchio returned to occasionally going to clubs and concerts so as he wouldn’t have to bump into anyone from his past. Fortunately, most of the familiar faces weren’t around anymore, they must have moved on or just lost interest like he had. Prosciutto, Formagio, Illuso, Sorbet and Gelato…. What had they been doing in these last 20 years….

Abbacchio sighed. His only friend seemed to be Narancia and he was just a kid. Still, he was very glad Narancia was around, it gave him a sense of meaning being there for the boy. He guessed Bruno must feel the same way about his children, that they gave him purpose. It occurred to him if things did become serious with Bruno he would have to start taking care of more than just Narancia. Abbacchio let out an audible sigh.  
“Let’s not get ahead of yourself”

Bucciarati took his loneliness away. He fell back forward on to the bed. What did Abbacchio ever do to deserve the attention of such a beautiful and thoughtful man. He couldn’t understand why Bucchirati took interest to him that night but should it matter? When they enjoyed each other’s company time just flew by. They’d stay up late talking about theoretical nonsense, the importance of skin care routines at their age, and how people don’t listen to full albums these days they listen to single songs and then move on. A warm feeling enveloped Abbacchio’s heart. He not only had a close, personal friend now who would have midnight coffee and deep talks with him, he had noticed Bucciarati’s romantic intentions as of late. At the shop the other day, he had left a CD burned with music he thought he’d like and he had begun sitting closer when they would meet up. They had been seeing each other every day since Bruno had visited Abbacchio’s record shop and Abbacchio couldn’t help but begin to fall head-over heels.

There was a knock at the door and intense excitement ran through Abbacchio as it could be none other than Bucciarati. He rushed to the door to greet him. Upon opening the front door his heart stopped for a moment, Bruno stood there with several pure white roses wrapped in a modest but elegant bouquet. Abbacchio couldn’t find the right words and just stood there, stricken by his emotions. It was Bruno who spoke first.

“I hope it isn’t too forward, these are for you” Bruno said through his blushing  
“I thought you’d like them...may I come in?”

Abbacchio couldn’t stop blushing either.

“Please, yes come in, I….. those are...I’m going to go get a vase.”

He rushed into the kitchen and frantically searched underneath the sink for another flower vase. Those roses were as white as fresh snow and Buchiratti had bought them for...him. For him! They were so delicate and lovely, a truly outstanding gift, it was just so unexpected. This was the sort of gift that was given with romantic sentimentality, this was courting. Butterflies were in Abbacchio’s stomach as he returned to the living room to report to Bruno that he was out of another flower vase but there he found Bucciarati arranging the white roses in the same vase as his black ones.

“It looked as if there was enough room for the both of them” Bruno said as he picked several white petals off the roses and laid them at the bottom of the vase to join the black petals. 

Bucciarati paused.

“Do you think they look good together?” He asked cautiously as he turned around to meet Abbacchio’s starstruck face.

“T-they really do.. Look good together.” 

“I think so too.” Bruno smiled and walked over to Abbacchio taking him by his hand and leading him towards the door.

“Would you like to drive or we could take my car if you’d like.”

Abbacchio knew if they took his car that the CD Bruno burned for him would start playing once he turned his vehicle on. That would be too embarrassing for him. 

“I hope you don’t mind if we take your car, mine is a bit of a mess”  
Bucciarati’s smile widened.  
“That’s fine by me, I’m glad I didn’t tell my driver to leave just yet.”

Abbacchio paused. His driver?  
“Oh did you Uber here?”

Bruno shook his head  
“It’s not like that.”

Abbacchio and Bruno headed out and onto the second story of Abbacchio’s apartment complex. Looking out over the railing it shocked Abbacchio to see a glossy black as night Lamborghini in the parking lot, it glaringly didn't belong here in this area of town. Bruno ecstatically pulled him forward by his hand and led him down the stairs towards the expensive sports car. 

“You see, normally I would be driving but we can get to know each other much better if someone else’s focus was on the road. I have a good feeling about the play tonight! Have you read any of Samuel Beckett's lesser known stage plays?”

Abbacchio succumbed to the blissful events that were transpiring, no longer hiding back his saline tears, with the biggest smile on his face. 

“I’ve been waiting for so long for someone to ask me that.”

Bruno briefly looked back towards Abbacchio, smiling too.

He spoke softly to himself but enough for Abbacchio to hear.

“Where have you been hiding all of my life Abbacchio?"


	11. Debaser

Prosciutto watched as Risotto flipped through his coupon catalogue eyeing the considerable discounts from which he had bought from a solicitor at the home owners meeting earlier that day. Rissotto’s house was well maintained, inside and out. It felt to Prosciutto that Risotto lived in a model home and anyone could come in to tour it at any given time. The only sign that this was truly Rissoto’s abode were the creepy porcelain clown dolls that he kept upstairs. What was most unnerving was that over the course of the four days Prosciutto had been staying there Risotto would place them downstairs when he’d file his taxes or to cook dinner just to ‘keep him company’. 

Prosciutto lifted his chin and leaned against the side of the steril granite countertop island.  
“You wouldn’t want to go golfing later would you?” 

Risotto raised his eyebrow. Prosciutto could read that he just did not follow his line of thinking  
.  
“When I use to go through hard times, my dad would take me golfing you see.”  
He took the nearby scissors to cut a coupon out of his pamphlet.

“And then we’d go out for ice cream”

Prosciutto didn’t actually care about golfing, hell, it might be one of the least interesting sports known to man. What he really wanted was to leave the house and he knew Risotto loved to golf.

Risotto went to the closet to go find his golf clubs.

“I guess it’s better than you staying here and obsessing over Bucciarati.”

Prosciutto was glad at how easy it was to get along with him. Living with Risotto rent free for awhile wasn’t going to be so bad. Besides, he knew Risotto wasn’t going to show it, but he was obviously looking forward to having someone else accompany him along to all of his boring pastimes like golfing and homeowners association meetings.

Just as the two of them were about to head out of the driveway they could see Melone on his motorcycle zooming in to greet them. Melone came to an abrupt stop making the rear tire fly up in the air. He almost lost control but refused to let that ruin his composure. 

Rissoto gave him an unaffected stare.  
“I thought they took away your license”  
Melone pushed his hair back behind his ear which had gotten tangled in the wind.  
“Yeah well they didn’t take away my bike. Were you two about to go some place?”

Prosciutto scowled. Melone caught that.  
“So you were? That’s no fair I just got here… ! I haven’t seen you guys since the other day, where y’all heading?”

Risotto went to grab the key fob to his car  
“We are going golfing.”

Melone acted as if Risotto had just served him a plate of the most foul thing known to man then looked at Prosciutto in what seemed to be confusion as to why he would join him. Risotto and Prosciutto headed to the car, ignoring Melone’s rude response. 

“May I… May I join you guys?”

Prosciutto internally screamed. He already knew Risotto was about to agree to it.  
“Sure.” Risotto said while getting into the driver's seat.

“Great! Di Molto Fabulous even!”  
Melone scootched into Risotto’s back seat and they were off.

As predicted, when they arrived at the golf course, Melone pretended to sulk. He couldn't afford to play golf with them unless someone would help him out and of course Risotto paid for him to join them. Once Risotto had left for the restroom, Prosciutto and Melone could squash their beef. .

“You were born to polish those golf clubs… you are really good at it…”  
Prosciutto did his best to ignore him, but Melone continued pushing.

“You know… I didn’t know you were much of a golfer. This is like, your first time playing this right?”

“...shut up Melone, you weren’t invited.”

Melone pretended to be hurt and fell over on to Prosciutto's lap.

“You stopped hanging out with me!! I need attention too…”

He reached out to touch Prosciutto’s nose with his purple glove but the suave blonde quickly pushed him away. It was strange how easily it was to toss Melone aside, he was so frail and delicate..

“I’m going through a lot right now and I can’t afford to babysit you and your poor decision-making skills. Why are you even here….?”

Melone’s looked unimpressed as he twiddled in his pockets and threw a small clear plastic bag with several ounces of cocaine into Prosciutto’s lap. 

“You might turn into a better person if you go use some of that right now. “  
Melone gestured with his fingure.  
“Why am /I/ here? Why are /you/ here? Usually you get in touch with me within a day or two but lately these days, nothing.”

It was true. Prosciutto hadn’t hit Melone up in quite some time. He hadn’t bought drugs in about a week either. I It wasn’t as if Melone had top of the shelf quality coke or anything but they were used to spending time together and Prosciutto used to buy from him every now and again as an excuse to hang out and do drugs with someone. They could almost even be considered friends in a straight way. 

It was that moment that it occured to Prosciutto thatMelone was a friend.  
“...you don’t need to worry about me if that’s what this is about.”

Melone smiled and got up to stand akimbo in front of Prosciutto.  
“If you say so. You don’t think that’s all for you do you? You have to share it.”

Prosciutto and Melone entered into the restroom to take their lines of B grade cocaine off the sink. Risotto took care of business at a urinal close by, Prosciutto was overcome with relief that the person he was living with right now didn’t give a damn if he did drugs or not.

Once they headed out on to the course, golfing just hit different, golfing just felt heavenly. Prosciutto took a golf club and aimed steady. He was pretty great at golfing and Risotto, even though his expression seemed unaffected, he was having a good time too. Melone refused to golf even after Risotto had paid his way in ,but followed at a close distance, typing very fast on what must have been an entire manuscript on his broken apple phone. Risotto’s turn was next.

“Hm.”  
Melone mused.  
“If I said the name, Abbacchio, would that ring any bells to you guys?”

Risotto froze mid-swing, his jester bells jingling in the wind.

“You are going to have to be more specific.”

He resumed putting. 

“We need a last name, here Melone.”  
Prosciutto wondered where this was coming from. He knew an Abbacchio once but there were probably tons other Abbacchio’s out in the world.

“Long white hair, purple lipstick… goth?”  
Melone looked up over his phone. 

Oh.

That Abbacchio.  
It had been years.

Risotto carried on and took an agressive swing. He smacked the golf ball like a 20 lb bag of rice at Publix.

“I don’t know him.” 

His aim was excellent, but he hit the golf ball with more force than he had been using previously.  
It was Prosciutto’s turn. 

Prosciutto murmured and laughed at the same time like someone had told him a bad joke.  
“What has you thinking about that burnout Melone? We were having a good time here.” 

Melone typed on his phone very fast as he responded.  
“I definitely saw him sitting on Bruno’s lap the other night, hair flying out the window, wasn’t that like, your car Prosciutto, a gift from Bruno or something?”

The golf ball flew off in an undefined direction as Prosciutto hit the club explosively into the ground with his swing. 

He turned to face Melone.  
“He was in my lambo?”

Melone’s eyes widened.  
“So it WAS a gift after all! That’s not something you can get back from him can you? He is still making payments?”

Abbacchio. Bruno had left him for Abbacchio. He had suspected that there was something more to breaking off their relationship but he couldn’t tell what it was but this was worse than anything he anticipated. He needed an alibi to break up with him, he said it was the drugs that was the reason, but if Abbacchio was cuddled up on him several days later that meant Bruno had been seeing him while they were still together. Bruno had replaced him for an unmotivated, alcoholic boot licker.

He wasn’t having fun anymore. He wanted to go home. Risotto equally wanted to leave. It was an unspoken mutual desire to leave the golf course after learning this, as the two of them headed back towards the golf cart. Melone was about to join them on the vehicle when Risotto’s voice stopped him.

“Pick up our golf clubs and the golf balls. We are going home.”

Melone hated manual labor but, for Risotto, he would do it. It didn’t stop them from looking at each other in silence for a really long time though. He went to go pick up a golf club and once he had turned his back the two of them sped away leaving the anemic man stranded.


	12. I am a sinner, Probably gonna sin again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GJ7xZpGqGpk  
^  
Here take this
> 
> Sorry for not updating in so long :[

Bruno gently lifted Abbacchio’s bone-bleached white hair away from his face. Abbacchio had his head in Bruno’s lap - The two of them had been stargazing and the faint starlight glow dappled their skin. The constellations glowed gently from above their heads. Not a word was spoken between them for they were in fact, straight vibing in each other’s presence.  
It was Abbacchio who broke the silence.  
“Do you think...there is anything up there?”

The tall grass rocked softly around them as Bruno pondered.

“We can’t be the only planet that can harbor life can we?”

“No, I mean… do you think there is a God, watching us, down here… judging us on our actions.... Punishing us for our sins”

Bruno brushed his boyfriend’s long hair with his fingers and paused momentarily.

“Who knows.”

Silence transpired among them and a cloud began to creep over the moon.  
Bruno spoke again.

“I think we won’t find out for another 30 some odd years but… I think we will all get what we deserve.”

Abbacchio looked up at Bruno and saw his hair blow gently in the night breeze. He was beautiful.

He struggled to ask but pushed through his hesitation.  
“Do you think that someone may be… unforgivable?”

Bruno immediately lost his smile.  
“Yes.”

Abbacchio grew concerned…. What if God really could never forgive him? What if Bruno couldn’t forgive him? 

“Bruno, I have a confession. It's been weighing on my mind for the last 20 years.”

He shifted upright so that he could watch Bruno’s face as he told him his story.

“Senior year of high school I…. I lost all of my friends… and a part of myself.”

Bruno’s poker face was impenetrable and revealed nothing.

“My friends and I, we lived fast. We weren’t thinking about the future: we bought fake ids, partied until the morning, painted eachother’s nails black, we even stole a car once. That certain night though… we had just left one of our friends basements…We hadn’t figured out where to hide the bodies” 

Bruno’s eyes dilated. 

Abbacchio took a moment to pause, trying to find the right words for the grim story he was about to tell. He didn’t want to destroy the only good thing going for him, but he needed to be honest right here right now. He took a deep breath, looking deeply into Bruno’s eyes. He was scared. He didn’t know how Bruno would react to his dark past be but he had to power through. Abbacchio thought back to when he had confessed this particular transgression to his ex. He could still hear Risotto tell him that it was over two decades ago,get over it.

“It wasn’t anyone’s fault, we were just kids! But my friends Gelato and Sorbet were nursing this fat joint between them for the last hour or so and then suddenly, in my best friend's basement, at some point they kind of, slumped over and …. Wouldn’t wake up.”

Abbacchio began to cry.

“My best friend at the time, Pro--” Abbacchio halted. “Prometheus he….”

Bruno frowned harder than he already was.  
“Prometheus.”

“Yes. Promethious” Abbacchio scowled. He couldn’t admit to Bruno it was his Prosciutto. He had vowed years ago that he would never narc again. 

“Anyway, he had told me that he had given them a special joint laced with ketamine. The police couldn’t come down there, all of the drugs they were storing and the stolen car would incriminate all of us. So he convinced me to bring the bodies into the back seat of the stolen Mazda and we would dump them off on the side of the road somewhere. It was when I was carrying their cold, limp (and since it was a warm night) damp, bodies when I realized they were still breathing. I begged for Pros-Promethius to drive them to a hospital so they could get help but… he kept going on about how much trouble we’d both be in if anyone ever found out about this. So he drove us…. But not before stopping for some gas. It was there at the Circle K when I spied two strong, surly, but not over-built (I mean we’re not talking he-man here, we are talking about he-mans cousin who takes more than one rest day) cops walking out and…. “ Abbacchio paused for breath, gulped, and willed himself onward.  
“Well….Well I Alerted them….”  
He hung his head.  
“Sorbet and Gelato turned out fine… Prometheus spent the night in the slammer until his daddy bailed him out”

Bruno was unmoved. At some point, he had diverted his gaze from his lover and to the heavenly celestial bodies.

“Bruno…?” Abbacchio reluctantly lifted his hand from the fresh soil and reached for Bruno’s.  
Bucciarati lifted his chin and pulled away which resulted in a choked off sob from Abbacchio. 

“Bruno, I’m sorry, we were having such a lovely excursion. Look at us. Two lovers under the eye of the moon and I’ve,once again, ruined everything.” He put his head in his hands.

“No. Abbacchio. Its fine.”

Bucciarati clenched his jaw so Abbacchio could see his muscles shudder.

“There is somewhere I’d like you to accompany me and the boys with this Sunday.”

Abbacchio was apprehensive, this was the first time Bruno had offered to include him on a family event. It would be proof to the children that he and Bruno were dating. 

“Of course..How should I dress?”

“Dress to the nines. We are going to Santa Maria della Stella”

Abbacchio was taken back.  
Bruno stood up and turned around.

“I know someone who could forgive you.”


	13. Reach out Touch FAITH

“Forgive me father, my last confession was … probably tuesday.. Or thursday, maybe friday?”

Mista couldn’t recall...

There was a sharp inhale from the pastor on the other side.  
“Go on my son.”

Mista aggressively twiddled his strong thumbs  
“I’m not exacty upset about what I did … but it was probably a sin so:”  
He tapped his foot and set a fixed gaze directly at the floor beneath him.

“Look, it’d be better to start at the beginning” 

He took a short pause before immediately proceeding. 

“This morning I was excited to bring my bro Narancia to sunday school. It was the first time he had agreed to join us ever. And I mean EVER, I’ve been asking him for years now to accept our lord and savior jesus christ into his heart”

The father groaned. 

“I know, its awful right? I’m just concerned that he wont have a palace in heaven with me and Bruno, his own house there, maybe a three story house and we could all live there with each other on different floors.”

“So Fugo didn’t join you and your father today?”

“No.-- Fugo is still on restriction so he had no choice but to watch service on television and complete a critical thinking analysis on the homily. He probably just turned it off though and made up what he was going to tell bruno the service was about. I worry about him. Anyway, today was special. Bruno even brought his new boy toy along.” A bass boosted laugh resonated across the confessional. Mista slapped his powerful, thick thigh. 

“Thats the only reason Narancia even agreed to join us.”

He took off his church shoes to adjust his fancy sock.  
“These things always scrunch up at the bottom you know. So annoying… Anyway…”  
He repositioned himself in the chair and continued.

“We met Abbachio at the room with all the candles we are supposed to pray at. He was crying, that old bat. Talking about ‘never to be forgiven or something’. That guys alright! Bruno sure knows how to pick them… you know, if things keep going well between them, I bet Abbachio would give me a job at his store! Narancia doesn’t do anything in there, so he could use the help!”

Mista grew solemnly contemplative.

“...you know what, I would like to confess something that Narancia did, I know I didn’t say I was going to, but he sure isn’t going to come in here anytime soon so I’ll do it for him.”

“You know son, that isn’t something you can do for someone else. They have to admit that they’ve sinned for themselves”

His face twisted. “Fine then I’ll tell you anyway…. He asked how many eucarists does he have to eat before he eats an entire body of christ….”

The pastor didn’t know how to respond but he did.  
“Is this some sort of joke to you?”

He leaned in close to the box where the father’s face was obscured.

“..How many would that be anyway?...”

The pastor raised his voice.

“Why are you here Mista? If you don’t have any confession, get out! You are wasting the lords time. ”

“Ok, ok, ok, ok…. So you know, its midway through mass and I go to leave for youth service , Narncia had fallen asleep in the pew so I just left him…I had left my bible in the car. Sure, I could have used someone else’s bible but mine has all of my notes…. And father, as I walked out into the parking lot , before my own eyes, was this sickly thin excuse for a man slashing the tires to the family Boughadi!! I had to act. And I do NOT regret what I did, but--”

“Yes my son?”

“I beat the shit out of this guy….”

“Mista, that is definitely a sin and also a crime.”

“I thought so…” Mista nodded his head. 

“He kind of didn’t put up much of a fight or a chase… he looked kinda pale after losing all that blood. But, I mean, he was committing a sin first. Thou shalt not covet.” 

“You think coveted you?”

Mista waved his hand in exacerbation.  
“I don’t know.”

The father sighed loudly   
“Mista. What happened to the man you attacked.”

“He struggled to a tree to prop himself up and with fading consciousness he told me ‘Bruno doesn’t even know what enemy’s he’s made’ and ‘what awful children he has raised’. So, I gave him one last punch in the gut before taking that ratty jelly plastic purse of his and proceeded to dump ALL of its contents into the offering plate.”

“So you are telling me, on your way to youth service, you mugged a man and proceeded to donate his money UNWILLINGLY to our church fund.” 

“Whoah whoah whoah whoah, you are making me out to be the bad guy, he attacked our car remember? I feel like I’m not making myself clear?”

Just then a sloppy knock sounded from behind him.  
“Mista? What are you doing? The Boughadi’s fixed and we’re all waiting for you. I want to go home.” 

Narancia violated the sanctity of the confessional.   
Mista turned around in his seat and without anger or amusement responded.  
“Hey bro, I think you may have violated the sanctity of this confessional or something.”

Narancia looked at nothing in particular around the room.  
“Can we go home, I’m hungry man”

The pastor let out a plea.  
“Listen, before you go, I just want to say….”

Mista listened.  
“Oh, so whats the punishment going to be? 50 hail marys? That ones easy”

“No Mista I think your souls in Jepordy”

This sobered Mista and Narancia grew agitated.

“Let’s go already! We’ve been here for an extra hour already!”

“You too Narancia! You both need to get right with God! Your blasphemous nature will condemn you to hell!”

Narancia became unhinged.  
“I never wanted to go to church anyway! Mind your own damn business! Maybe god doesn't like you ever think about that? Huh? Fuck off.”

Mista stood out of his seat and walked towards Naranica.

“Listen Narancia, you go home with Bruno, I think I’m going to stay here and pray until God loves me again.”

Naranica looked up at Mista and wrinkled his nose.  
“What makes you think that what this guy says is right huh? Maybe he just sucks”

Mista grew dark.  
“Maybe this guy dose suck but what if he makes a point. You go home.”

Narancia groaned loudly and was about to leave but bumped smack dab into Bruno’s chest. 

“Mista, let’s leave. I’d like to get us all a KFC dinner on the way back home.”

Mista shook his head but Bruno walked over to him.

“God loves you enough Mista.”

Mista smiled and looked pleased.  
Narancia was running towards the car enthralled with the prospect of a kfc fill up meal.


	14. Ego Tripping at the Gates of Hell

Prosciutto stood amidst the isolating presence of his old mcmansion he had lived in for most of the 2000’s. He found the keys so readily in his pocket like so many other times before….this would probably be his last. Fugo was undoubtedly occupying the house, he never enjoyed Sunday service and certainly did not attend now that he was older. It wasn’t so long ago when Prosciutto would have to babysit him when Bruno would take the rest of the family to mass. He had that in common with one of Bruno’s boys at least: heresy. Wow. Time really flies when you are on cocaine.

The house was in as immaculate shape as ever, not a speck of dust to be seen anywhere. Prosciutto treaded familiarly down the tastefully carpeted hallway and into the parlor. And who else would he spot cross legged sitting on the mahogany chair placed in front of the hand carved russian chess set but his ex-step son. Fugo Buccellati. Prosciutto saw him, but pretended he did not see him. His gaze was hooked on the empty fireplace between them. He heard Fugo put his book down as he passed by him, but he said nothing. 

Prosciuto and Fugo hadn’t grown any bonds over the years, neither of them wanted any. This didn’t mean he didn’t know his ex-son though. He was wilful with a vindictive personality, his pragmatic nature meant he was willing to overlook certain morals if the benefits outweighed the costs; all of which he could use against this boy’s father and are excellent traits for a budding drug lord.

Prosciutto sauntered confidently to the back of the room and ran a thumb over the faithfully dusted mantle piece. He examined his perfectly hygienic hand and outstretched it to reach slowly for the silver candle stick attached to the wall. He gave it a jaunty turn and Fugo swiveled around to hear the inner mechanisms of Prosciuttos secret realm beginning to turn. Fugo arose from his seat, finally Prosciutto had gotten under his skin.

“You need to get out of here.” 

He couldn’t help but let out a smirk as the secret candle stick began makin a little whirring but mostly grinding. Prosciutto ignored his old step son as he removed a now loose brick from underneath bruno’s most prized M.C. Escher original. 

“How is business now that you are in college Fugo?”

Prosciutto continued to pull out a gallon sized bag halfway full of cocaine from the crevasse in the wall all the while waiting for a reply he knew he wasn’t going to get.

“You would be a fool to stop the hustle now, selling in high school was just a child's game, a college campus is rife with the most eager clientele.”

He turned to face Fugo whose face gave away his confusion and nervous energy.

“I see … so you think I’d rat you out to your dad?”

He approached Fugo, holding the bag of drugs not unlike a mother carrying her child.

“I never have before, did I? I respect a man in the same line of work as myself. Fugo, you have kept the fact you were peddling drugs for several years from your father, someone who has been acutely sheltering you from that sort of lifestyle. You are clever and now have a territory of your own, if you wish it to be that.”

He outstretched his arms to hand a sweating Fugo the bag of blow.

“But college books are expensive aren’t they? Will your reggie be enough?”

There was a pause. Fugo nervously seemed to be coming up with all sorts of scenarios in his head. Prosciutto didn’t want to press him too hard, lest he become disenchanted with the deal. If he was able to get Fugo to start selling cocaine it would get Bruno right where it would hurt him. Time to make the final call. 

He withdrew the plastic bag and walked towards the door.

“If you want in, let me know within the week. I know you had your suspicions but its true about the connections I have to the drug world. I don’t know what kind of connections you have but ..”

He stopped walking and cocked his head behind him.

“We both know mine are better than any a high schooler can get a hold of”

Fugo’s voice cracked.

“Let me think this over. I wasn’t expecting this….”

Prosciuto turned around and walked towards him, he sat the bag of cocaine down on the chess set and put both hands around his shoulders.

“Do you see that crevasse in the wall? I need you to start hiding your shit in there. I’ve hidden my drugs in there for years without your father noticing.”

He took his hands away and started to head towards the door.

“Wait!!! You can’t leave all this here!”

Prosciuto smiled.

“That is an investment in your future Fugo. Use that to gauge how much interest there is in stimulants around your university. Once you need more, you have my number.”

Just before he left he added.

“I promise your share in the business would be more than a reasonable amount.”

He closed the door to his Ex’s house one final time but life wasn’t so easy.

There, pulling up in the driveway was Bruno and his kids.

Prosciutto grew agitated as he wondered why Melone didn’t slice their tires like he had asked him to do? Did that little weasel run off and decide to ditch on a promise he had made? Fugo was alone in a room with cocaine. Surely there was some stalling he could come up with. 

Bruno came out of the car first, with a poker face that screamed “I’m holding my composure for now but I’m about to lose it.” Shortly followed by Mista exiting the car with a bucket of chicken, and with a mouth full of meat from a drum leg yelled: “HEY , THIS ISN’T YOUR HOUSE ANYMORE!”.

Annoying how his ex-foster son had turned so quick on him… He could see Narancia seemingly talking to someone in the front seat before he exited. That someone undoubtedly was that snake Abbachio.

As Bruno reprimanded him, Prosciuto’s mind wandered far from his conversation. “Look at that coward Abacchio…. Pathetically staying in the car… He won’t even look at me” He thought to himself.

And it was true. Abbachio fixated at one spot on the dashboard, unable to meet the eyes of his once friend and now boy friend's ex.

The Bruno family stood their berating him loudly and contemptuously. How long had it been… 3 minutes? An hour? Finally Prosciutto had enough. He threw his keys on the ground at Bruno’s feet. 

“Spare me anymore of your lectures Bruno!”

He shoved Mista aside, making him cough on the mouthfuls of chicken he continued to eat, hoping that Fugo had enough time to hide his cocaine some where decent by now. 

Prosciutto walked away with the impression that things hopefully were about to get even with his ex.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updating a fuck ton more frequently bc of much needed escapism.  
Laptops broken so using my phone.


	15. This is Not My Beautiful House

There Abbacchio sat. Hands placed firmly in his lap, staring holes through the dashboard which was gently humming Depeche Mode, a band which Bruno had previously boasted about being a top 3% fan of on his Spotify premium. This was a vanity that Abbacchio did not, himself, subscribe to. He wondered if any of Bruno’s cars even had a CD player. Where would he play the pirated mix tape he had begun preparing on his windows 10? These were the thoughts which mixed around in his degenerate mind as he remained frozen, transfixed by the swinging shadow cast by Bruno’s rear-view mirror rosary as it swayed playfully in front of him, jostling with delicate clicking bead noises as Prosciutto banged his fist against the passenger seat mirror. 

He could hear Bruno from the porch firmly demanding that Prosciutto just leave but there he stood insistent that Abbacchio look at him like a man, not like the coward that he knew he was. Abbachio knew he didn’t have the audacity to face Bruno’s recently jaded lover at the house they once shared. He kept betraying his best friend from so long ago. How he had wondered what had become of this man... and now regretted ever wondering at all. Prosciutto aggressively fiddled at his car door and before leaving after Bruno had threatened to sic the dobermans on him, he spat on the window and left. 

Abbachio timidly unlocked the car door and exited the vehicle. Bruno remained agitated on the porch, the hand on his face shaking with repressed rage. The bucci kids had long since left the scene and were already at the dinner table— and by the sound of it, were busy making a huge old mess. Abbachio kept his head slightly lowered and went over to Bruno. He could tell that Prosciutto had nothing but shattered the unyielding façade he always strived to wear around the boys. 

‘Bruno…” Abbachio put on his brave voice. “It may be better to forget he was even here at all. The boys are probably leaving grease and crumbs everywhere as we speak. Why don’t you go in and help them find the dinner plates.

“No.”  
Bruno took the heavy hand away from his face. His tone became clipped.   
“Maybe we should have addressed this sooner. You cannot expect to keep such a laissez-faire position in the boys lives!”

Abbachio was horrified with this realization, his lips parted aghast.  
”Prosciutto is gone,Abbacchio. I need all the help I can get.”

Abbachio felt a single bead of sweat drip down his cheek. 

‘If we are going to be in a relationship, I hope you are beginning to realize that you are also in the parental seat.’

Bruno rapidly slicked his bob back to recompose himself and swiveled away to corral his boys off the couch and towards the dinner table. Abbachio closed his mouth, took a deep breath, and followed suit. 

“Narancia. Get that bucket off the couch.” Abbacchio barked before a word could escape Bucciarati’s lips. 

Narancia squinted, his mouth hanging slightly open. He gathered the big old bucket between his small arms and defiantly glared at him. He was incorrigible alright. But Abbacchio had learned how to rangle the tude over many years. Bruno glanced back at him in a moment of brief approval, before swishing his hair and stepping into the dining room. 

Abbachio could not allow himself to be proud just yet. He curled his lip towards Naranica and narrowed his eyes as a warning. Narancia forcefully unstuck himself from the couch and ended up slamming the bucket on the table out of irritation from the faintest spectre of discipline. Mista noticed the passive aggressive tone and eyed Narancia as he walked stiffly by. 

“Narancia.” Mista laughed.  
“What’s with the attitude?” 

Narancia laughed as well. .  
“Ha ha ha what attitude?”

He maintained eye contact with Abbacchio as he threw his greasy corn cob that he grasped from the bucket and onto the fine china Fugo had begun putting out. Abbacchio turned his attention towards Fugo and wondered why the boy looked so tense as he doled out the utensils. Maybe he was uneasy because this was the first time they had all eaten together as a family would. This was probably where Naranica’s rebellion stemmed from as well; he was altering the very fabric of the Bucciarati household. 

Abbachio took his seat close to the head of the dinner table where Bruno sat. Bucciarati waited for the boys to take their food before going in for his dark meat and boiled potatoes. Abbacchio noticed it was strangely quiet as they ate, the loudest noises being the clinking of utensils against china. Over his chewing, Narancia was giving him evil eyes from across the table. So Abbacchio gave a rude side eye back. Narancia was like a son to him, sure, but the other boys were almost strangers. Now would be an opportune time to get to know them.

“So,” Abbacchio cleared his throat.   
“Mista, I haven’t seen you at my record store in a while.”

Mista leaned back in his chair like he always did. It was the third chair in the last 4 years that Buccirati had replaced after welcoming him into his household.

“Well, if you must know we’ve been unable to do much Abbacchio, we got in trouble.”

Fugo bristled. Nanrancia nodded, eerily never breaking eye contact with Abbacchio.

“What did you boys do? I’m sure Bucciarati wouldn’t punish you for just anything.”

Fugo was the first to respond. “That’s family business Abbachio, please don't overstep your boundaries as a guest.”

Bruno frowned sternly at his son. “I don’t think that was appropriate. Apologize right this instant.”  
Fugo looked red in the face but conceded.   
“I’m sorry.”

Abbacchio felt less close to the family than ever before. During church service, everything felt as it should, but now he could see that there was beacoup de work to be done if he would ever win the favor of his boyfriend’s children. After all, Bruno’s life work was his children. And influencing. 

Bucciarati turned his focus off of Fugo and towards Mista.  
“You’ve been going to Abbacchio’s store for awhile now is that correct? That’s where you met Narancia?”

Mista nodded.  
“That’s true! Been best pals ever since. That’s where I met Abbacchio too!”

Abbacchio felt relief that Mista at least saw him in a favorable light. His hard expression thawed.

“Mista comes into check on Narancia so often, I forget I only have one employee”

Bucciarati smiled.  
“Well you know Mista has been requesting a PS4 VR for awhile.”

Mista’s face lit up and his cheeks puffed out with food.  
“Are you actually getting it Bucciarati!?”

His father shook his head and Abacchio caught Fugo rolling his eyes.  
“You’ll buy it yourself Mista… but Abbacchio,would your store be hiring perchance?”

Abbacchio was nervous because he wasn’t. In fact, his store barely had any customers at all so affording a second coworker didn’t economically make much since. It was a labor of love. Gaining Bruno’s approval and Mista’s favors might be a good way to get closer towards the family and in this moment he was allowing himself to consider the possibility oftaking him in.

“... is he looking for a job?”

Mista had finished his plate and was about to stand up.

“Nope, but for you I’d do it.” Mista pointed in Abbachio’s direction. “You’d give me as many breaks as I want right? And you do close the store a lot so I’m not actually worried about working too hard.” He laughed jovially.

Abbacchio blushed in embarrassment as Bruno looked seriously at him.  
“So, do you think you’d consider him?”

He sweated, facing the dinner plate.  
“He’s hired already.” He croaked.

Mista became immediately excited and went over to Narancia to slap him on the back.  
“Looks like we will be seeing each other more often man!”

Bruno scooted back his seat.

“Mista. Stop. I have an announcement.”

Everyone shut up. Their eyes were all on Bruno.

“Tomorrow we will be having a guest. I have plans to foster another boy in our household. I’m unsure for how long he will be staying with us. I thought now would be a good time to address this. His name is Giorno, I trust all of you will treat him as a brother would.”

Abbacchio was dumbfounded, why hadn’t he told him before the day of? How long had he been in the process of taking in another kid? It was apparent that the news wasn’t only shocking to Abbacchio but the rest of the family as well.

“Well, Bruno,” 

Abbacchio’s hand moved to rest over the napkin on his lap as he chose his words carefully. 

“That is very sudden...me and Narancia had unfortunately scheduled a lengthy alphabetizing of all my miscellaneous jazz LPs.”

Bruno cocked his brow pleasantly. Narancia became alert by the unexpected but welcome bailout.

“That is certainly understandable”

Bruno raised his chin in sound judgement.

“Though truthfully I was hoping Narancia would join my boys in entertaining our guest tomorrow.”

“Oh. Well. I can always do it alone.”   
Abbacchio did not look at Narancia, for he knew he had backpedaled. Narancia began gripping his fork so tightly that it shook.

“Wonderful. I will expect you here no later than two, Narancia.” 

Narancia did not respond, unable to squeeze out of yet another stiff Bucciarati family gathering.   
Mista looked over at him, then looked away with an indiscreet, pleased snicker.

“Narancia is always included in family matters, why don’t you go ahead and adopt him too while you are at it. ” Fugo kept his gaze down on the piece of chicken he was sticking his perforated knife through. This elicited a final, earnest smile from an otherwise tense Bucciarati.   
“Thank you. That will be all. Now, if you will excuse me.”

Bruno shot upwards from his seat at the head of the table with an undefined grace. He gathered his plate in front of him and finished his last sip of moscato. Everyone’s eyes followed each of his delicate commanding motions as if still waiting for further instruction. 

“Oh. Fugo. Will you please join me in the kitchen?.”

The room sobered as everyone’s gazes shifted from one end of the table to the other. Fugo raised his eyes from the piece of chicken he was agitatedly tearing apart with his fork. Everyone began to clear their places at the dinner table and Fugo shyly head towards the other room with his father. Abbacchio didn’t eavesdrop but he overheard Buccirati telling Fugo how proud he was of him.

He knew that Buccirati cared deeply about his children and as much as he was willing to discipline them, learning he would have sideaways with them to tell his kids that they meant so much made Abbacchio realize just how good a father Bruno was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life indoorsy with these quarantine days 
> 
> Going to write more often now


	16. Daddy Gave Me a Name then he Walked Away

Bruno pulled up in his madonna blue ferari to the curbside of the neopolitan orphanage. He glanced over his tinted burberry sunglasses to get a look at the time. 11:50. Fashionably early as always. He huffed, damning his innate punctuality. Usually he prided himself on this matter, but he realized now that this left him with ten excruciating minutes of solitary thinking time. He drummed his fingers on the side of the car door. Truth be told: Bruno was rather unhappy. Life had been very chaotic for him the past few days. Undoubtedly, ever since Abbachio had walked into his life, everything shone a little brighter than before. And somehow, he found himself disappointed. He just couldn’t place his finger on it. Was it because of the impromptu reapperance of his ex, Prosciutto? Or the way Abbacchio so easily exposed his yellow-bellied cowardice to his lover and his boys? Or maybe it was the residual embarrassment of Mista and Narancia’s violation of the sanctity of sunday mass in normal time. Not to mention Fugo, who was still on restriction from last month’s drug related scandal. You know what. Maybe Bruno was thankful for the ten minutes alone. He removed his sunglasses and continued to frown heavily through the dashboard. Was now the right time to introduce a new child to the family? 

Bruno looked out the driver seat window to find a young blonde boy carrying an oversized Armani handbag determinedly making his way towards the vehicle. The child was Giorno Giovana: the newest addition to the household. As he got into the car he did not face Bruno as one would do when entering a taxi’ His entire demeanor implied Bruno to “just keep driving”.. Bruno reflected on how Fugo and Mista reacted the first time they met him as their new father figure, it wasn’t easy leaving homes.

“Do you need me to gather anything else Giorno? Any other belongings?”

The teen shook his head and pulled his handbag closer to his chest.  
“That won’t be necessary.

“Oh I see.”  
He let a silence between them before attempting to ease the dark mood.   
“Do you like gelato?”

Girorno continued to look forward as he replied.  
“I would like that.”  
Buccirati offered a small noninvasive smile and shifted his Ferari into drive. The gelato shop had an eerie interior, everything made from vinyl rubbery plastic. The colors were jarringly primary. Bruno had endured the tacky decor for over three years now because the flavor was so good and the boys loved it. Mista would remarked that the “milk was just fresher here”. Bruno looked towards Giorno to gauge how he felt about the place and was relieved to find Giorno was completely apathetic. 

They approached the counter and he spoke first.  
“We would like two scoopes of well... which flavors would you like Giorno?” Bruno gestured with his hand invitingly, as was his people’s custom. . 

The boy pointed towards the lavender blackberry and the sinful chocolate truffle, but before Bruno could get a word in edgewise, also requested a scoop of pistachio honey. Bruno declined to say anything and ordered a measly lemon buttercream for himself. As he proceeded to bring out his double platinum credit card Giorno lifted his finger.  
“It’s alright it’s on me.”  
Bruno side eyed him and continued to pay.  
“No.”

Then they left and took a walkabout outside towards the adjacent duck pond. The silence between them was oppressive and deafening. The only sound that could be heard for miles was that of the chattering geese and each other’s own ice-cream licks. Bruno wondered how such a dainty boy like Giovanna could manage three mammoth scoops, but he seemed to be doing fine. Bruno looked down into his nearly emptied cone.   
“So. Giorno, how old are you now anyway, if you don’t mind me asking.”  
“Fifteen.”  
“Ah, you must have just turned fifteen then, I heard you just had a birthday.”  
Bruno leaned in subtly, closing the gap in between them-- a friendly gesture. Giorno lifted his chin to study his melting ice cream cone before tossing it into the nearest trash bin. He wiped his unsullied hands clean before twisting his body away from Bucciarati to rummage through the Armani bag on his arm. When he pivoted back to Bruno, he held a vintage polaroid photograph in his palm.  
“This is all I have left of my father.” 

Bruno stared at it. The man in the photograph --his fathe--r was built like a brick house with the muscles of an average titan. He blushed, hoping Giorno would not notice while he paused, searching for the appropriate response.

“Why that’s very brave of you Giorno.”  
Giorno nodded and tucked it back into his wallet meekly. 

“I never met him. He stopped paying his child support once he figured out mother was spending it on plastic enhancement surgeries.”

Giornos eyes glittered as he looked forward, undeterred. He squared his shoulders as if to send a gentle warning to anyone who might have been inclined to pity him.:There is no looking back. Only forward. Bruno paused, then followed giorno’s fixed stare, matching his profiled visage. 

“So”  
The early afternoon sun filtered through the branches of the park trees.  
“Do you have any hobbies?”.  
The boy declined to respond but instead pulled out his iphone 2016 model. Bruno disguised a wince. Giorno began scrolling and then scrolled some more.   
“Here” Gironro said  
“I’d like you to take a look at these photographs I took.”  
Bruno was stunned. He was flabbergasted. The child had an impeccable eye for product placement and understood how to draw the eye towards little details. He made an off brand pocket watch look like an item only a select few would have the privilege of seeing in their life times. Did Giorno want to be… no it couldn’t be….

“The orphanage said you were an influencer. I too share this dream.”

The geese squeaked and the ducks waddled as Buchirati stood up from the park bench they were sitting at. This child shared what was once his own dream before parenthood over shadowed it. This was meant to be.


	17. Kick in the Door

Narancia lounged on the playroom couch as he watched Mista mindlessly play his 52nd consecutive game of competetive overwatch. This was dull. Maybe it was his sleep depravation that was causing him to only slip in the ranks. He had been playing since yesterday night and no longer had much to say to Naranica who had been trying to interact with him for the last hour.

“Man this is boring as hell. I want a turn.” 

Narancia sunk further into the sofa cushion, extending his leg so he could reach just enough to press his socked foot against the back of his bro’s shoulder. Mista leaned forward, shaking him off as his character was flung lifelessly across the screen.

“Narancia I told you already if you want to play you have got to climb at least two--maybe even three ranks. I do NOT see you putting in the hours. Why don’t you just play on your switch.”

He dismissed him as he changed from a tank to dps, although there were 3 dps characters already on his team. It could not be helped. Mista had lost too many times to quit now and although he would tell Narancia he carried his team, it was a bold lie. Well, fine. Mista was not the only one who lived in this house. In fact, now that he thought about it, he must have left his switch in Fugo’s room last anyway. Wait, where was Fugo?   
Narancia finally slid off of the sofa, hoping that he would play splatoon with him. Not that Fugo had actually played with him in some time now. Nonetheless, the thought of sitting in the same room with Fugo playing the same game on opposite beds sounded rather possibly ok. Mista suffocated him, always around and in his business. They’d even be coworkers soon enough. What he really wanted was to see Fugo while he had the chance.

He noisily clattered down the carpeted hallway where Fugo’s door was inevitably locked, absolutely plasted in bold radioactive yellow type face: KEEP OUT!!!!!!!!!! Narancia rolled his eyes then smiled before banging on his door, making the wood rattle.

“HEY. Let me in. I left my Switch in there.”

“Your Switch.” A voice from the other room sounded distractedly, in mild irritance.   
“Yeah, the one you bought me. Come out here, Mista is completely tilted lets just play Splatoon.”

“I am preoccupied.” Fugo sighed audibly from behind the door. 

“Man, what does that even mean, I haven’t seen you since yesterday, just let me in.” Narancia pulled once more at the brass doorknob. His fruitless were result. 

“It means I’m busy Narancia, maybe another time, OK?.” 

Narancia groaned and rattled the door in anger. 

“When did you stop being fun? I just want my fucking switch, let me in”  
Narancia kicked the door with his left leg.

“No, this isn’t your room. Go play with Mista.”

Narancia seethed.

“Mista’s busy, you’re busy! What do you guys want me to do, go home?!”

Behind the door Fugo let out an unhinged laugh.

“Now that’s an idea Narancia! Yes, go home. I can’t afford to waste my time playing around with you, like I said, I’m very busy!”

Narancia was enraged. Fugo knew what type of “home Narancia had to return to. He knew his father would likely retain custody over him until he turned 18, despite not batting an eye when he had gone missing for months at a time, returning injured. This was personal. Narancia began to kick at the door forcefully enough to shake the bookshelf on the inside of Fugo’s room.

“WHAT THE FUCK DOES THAT MEAN? GET OUT HERE FUGO, I WANT TO SEE YOUR RAT FACE! SAY IT TO MY FACE FUGO! I MEAN IT!”

Narancia continued throwing expletives at the locked door while from inside of the room, he could hear something slam on Fugo’s desk. He continued throwing his fists on the door, making him lose his balance but not his temper once it opened abruptly. Fugo was seeing red and shaking: Trembling even, when they both heared the front door open. It must have been Bucciarati and his new adoptee, not that Narancia cared, but he could see the bewildered look in Fugo’s eyes swiftly change as he scrambled collect himself. Fugo shoved him aside abruptly and fast walked down the stairs to greet his temporary family member. Narancia attempted once more to break into Fugo’s room but somehow, it appeared to be locked once again. This sucked ass.

“WE AREN’T DONE HERE FUGO!!”

Narancia raced downstairs so he could punch Fugo in his uppity bastard face but stopped himself when he felt Bucciarati’s condemning eye cast upon him. There he was, the proud owner of this mcmansion standing under the mid afternoon rays which were filtering in from the open door behind him. Another, smaller figure unobscured itself behind Bruno’s shadow. He was white. 

“Narancia.” Bucciarati greeted before averting his line of vision. “And Fugo.” He noted as the latter pressed his hand nervously to his pant leg and slowly approached the small congregation. “This is Giorno Giovanna.” 

Giorno raised his hand and waved much like a pageant chick.

“Pleased to meet you.”

Whatever, he wasn’t finished with Fugo. Now that introductions were out of the way maybe he could deal with the dildo here and now.

“I want my switch back and an apology, you…”

Bucciarati stopped him.

“Narancia go tell Mista to get down here. We are all going to get to know each other a little better over a board game… I’ve decided it’s going to be a family game night.”

Narancia wilted and walked up the stairs to make his way towards the playroom.

“Miiiiistaaaaaaa……”

His bro was still gaming, and losing by the looks of it, glassy eyed and vacant. Emmiting no response.

“Bucciariti is home with the foster kid. He said it’s family game night.”

Mista side eyed him and turned off the console, skeptically removing himself from his seat.

“Which game.”

Narancia groaned  
“I don’t know, he just wants you downstairs.”

The two of them made their way back to the parlor where Bucciarati, Fugo, and Giorno were waiting patiently for their arrival. Bruno was glad to see the two of them.

“Mista, do you remember where we put the “un-game”? I think it would be benifical for us all to play the Un game.”

Mista perked up, remembering where he last left it and immedeatley went to retrieve the object of Bucciarati’s desire. Narancia took his place at the coffee table, beside fugo, and glared defeatedly.

“Bucciarati.”Giorno spoke up.  
“I do not believe I know what the “ungame” is.”

Bruno smiled at him like he had smiled at Narancia once but it had been a long time.  
“The Ungame is a non-competitive learning/communication board game created by Rhea Zakich in 1972. It is a game of conversation which "fosters listening skills as well as self-expression".  
Giorno smiled.  
“I think I got it.”   
Bruno returned his smile in reassurance as Mista returned holding the battered cardboard box between his arms. It was obviously well-loved. Narancia could not mask his displeasure. Fugo on the other hand seemed to be making the best of this situation. Odd. Narancia cut his eyes at him in suspicion. If Fugo caught it, he ignored it. Everyone reached over the coffee table to choose their player tokens: a mix of monopoly and candy land place holders. Giorno was left with last pickings and had to be the tugboat. 

“Bene.Just enough pieces for all of us. Alright, I’m the oldest, so I will start us off.” Bucciarati lifted the first card off of the deck and brought it up to eye level.

“What would you do if you had 5000$ ”  
He put the card down and chose another one.

“Alright this one asks, What do you like to daydream about.”

Bruno’s eyes grew tender and he softened his voice  
“My day dream goes like this… I’m with a certain someone, walking along the glowing shore of the maldives, when the saline breeze blows his long feathery hair and he bends down on one knee, and asks if I’ll marry him.”

Narancia laughed.  
“Who’s that supposed to be?”

Bucciarati did not answer. “Giorno, you’re next. Go ahead and draw a card.”   
Giorno picked his card off the deck and proceeded to read the question it prompted him with:  
“What would you do if you had a “magic wand”?  
Giorno looked over the card briefly before placing it by his hand which rested daintily on the mahogany coffee table. 

“ I would give myself abilities. “ 

He looked directly ahead as he addressed the table. “I would give myself the power of life energy and turn ordinary lifeless objects into alive things like scorpions or bugs. I would use this for my benefit in everyday life. For instance, I would simply turn a fire hydrant into a blooming elm tree to escape robbers. And if they attacked me, I’d make snakes.” 

The table was silent.   
“Who’s robbing you..?” Fugo asked from across the room. Mista drummed his fingers across the wood tabletop. “Huh.” 

Giorno made no more elaboration and returned his card to the bottom of the deck, having completely lost the room. 

Mista beamed, it was finally his turn. He read his card out loud:  
“What do you like most about yourself?”

He looked upwards, glowing.   
“Lemme see. I’m pretty great at cooking if I say so myself…”

“That’s great Mista!” Bruno cut in.  
“No wait hold up… I’m also really handsome… I know I might not actually participate in sports but when I do I’m really good so I guess I’m a natural born athlete. This really benefits me at laser tag.”

Giorno’s eyebrows raised. He had his undivided attention.   
Narancia laughed out loud. “Thats really dumb.”

Bruno silenced him. “Please respect family game night, Narancia. Fugo. It’s your turn.”

Everyone turned their heads to face Fugo on the other end of the table, sitting stiffly in front of the fireplace, under the family’s gilded chandelier. He made brief eye contact with Bucciarati before looking back at the card deck from which he chose the top most card.  
“What seems to…. complicate your life？”  
The table anxiously awaited his response.  
“Nothing. Nothing complicates my life. Everything is easy breezey.”  
Fugo smiled mannerly.   
Bruno drew in his brows, tilting his head softly.  
“Come on now Fugo, don’t lie, we are a judgment free household.”

Fugo stood up from the table.  
“I’m not lying.” He turned to face the new stranger at the table. “ It’s been nice to meet you Giovanna. Dad,I’m tired. I think I just need to get ready for tomorrow. Good night.”

He left with a superficial and honestly kind of creepy smile to return to his room. Narancia’s mouth hung open as he scowled, but for once; he caught the words before they had already tumbled out of his mouth. He was used to Fugo shutting people out, but usually when he was just busy with homework or something. Fugo had always made time for Narancia in the past, and to miss family game night...well. Actions spoke louder than words. Narancia remained at the table staring through the wood grain as Bucciarati reluctantly allowed the teen some room to sulk.   
“Narancia. Would you like to continue?” 

Narancia paused before laughing nervously. “Uh, thanks Bucciarati but… I think I’ve had enough board games for tonight too.” He pushed himself away from the parlor table. “I think maybe I should head home before it is too dark. I should go get my things”

Bruno nodded and continued to pick up another card from the deck. He was clearly dissapointed, but his expression was stoic and forgiving. Bruno was not one to over involve himself in his children’s (and his children’s friend’s) affairs. Narancia rubbed the back of his neck as he padded upstairs to politely knock on Fugo’s door. He could hear Giorno’s gentel voice as he asked a more than eager to reply Mista “when do you get goose bumps”.

“Hey.… can I come in?”


	18. Coma Baby

When will the dream end  
I think I’m in a coma   
Wow I hate Giorno 

I am all alone  
What am I holding on to   
Wheres Buccellatti 

Rising toes floating  
I have yet to earn my wings  
Onward Jesus Christ

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the hiatus! Decided to get expieramental I hope that's ok with yall!!


	19. Shiny Happy People Dancing

A sensation stirred in Abbacchio as he grew aware of the pain in his head, shoulders, and lower toes. Where was he? He managed to open his sleepy eye lids to find himself lying on an uncomfortably stiff hospital bed. The fluorescent light was irritating. He gripped the bed sheets using what little strength he had. 

“Try to remember what happened last, Abbacchio…. How did you get here… is Fugo alright? And Narancia…”

Abacchio turned his head to face the window but was horrified to see who was looking dead at him holding a milky purple balloon. Abbachios train of thought came to a crashing halt. Neither of them smiled and neither of them said anything. Abbacchio decided he’d close his eyes and try to go back to sleep.

“No wait, Mr.Abbacchio”

The 40 year old man tried his best to get his shut eye even though he wasn’t tired at all. However, during the silence he could feel Giornos breath on his corpse like arm and it really made things awkward. 

“...Mr. Abbachio”  
“WHAT.”

“I just thought you should know I’ve been waiting for you to wake up for about 2 weeks now.”

“Two weeks?”! 

“That probably isn’t healthy to be in a coma for that long” 

“GET OUT OF HERE!! And I don’t want you in here any more just leave!!!!”  
Abbacchio’s sluggish eyes quickley surveilled the room sluggislyh for something, anything, he could throw at the plucky young lad. 

But Abbacchio was interrupted by a familiar noise at the door as someone entered in. It was Bruno, the sound of his bird like foot steps could make a man blush.

“Giorno, it’s almost time to leave did you….”  
All at once, the handsome philanthropist turned to face Abbacchio.  
“Abbachio…! You are awake!”  
Buccellati gripped Giorno’s shoulders and smiled broadly.  
“Isn’t this swell, Gionrno.” 

That’s right. Bruno adopted another kid. He beamed at his newest son before directing his starlight blue eyes onto his boyfriend who was laying flat and wormlike on the hospital bed.  
“He has come to visit you every day since the incident you know.” He continued to gush as Abbacchio’s attention was briefly distracted by the slew of hallmark greeting cards that had collected by his bedside table.

Bruno laughed in bubbly, relieved, and silly billy laughs. “And to think we were beginning to consider pulling the plug.”   
The air from the breathing tube was ice cold as Abbacchio inhaled sharp and slowly. 

“Bruno, how did I get here?”

Bruno raised his eyebrows. “I could ask you the same question. When I got the phone call from Narancia that you were here I was shocked. Someone found your car, crashed into a tree on the side of the road, with you at the wheel with a bullet through your chest.”

Once bruno had pointed it out the wound in his chest stung quite a bit more.

Bucciarati continued. Blinking concernedly.  
“Tell us. What is the last memory you can conjure, Abbacchio. Who could have done such a thing to someone as normal and law abiding as you.”   
Abbacchio gazed back uo at his boyfriend with jumbo eyes, unsure if he was being negged right now.   
“I”  
He stuttered, his voice caught between his teeth.  
“I just dont know.”. He covered half of his face with his broad hand.  
Bucciarati’s expression deflated immediately. His eyebrows deflated also.   
“That is disappointing to hear It’s just that...” He answered quietly, his voiced drained of his previous earnestness. “I just hope that HE DOESNT GET AWAY WITH THIS.”   
Bucciarati slammed his unwed hand onto the bedside table, causing the collection of neatly displayed get well cards to topple over violently kind of like an earthquake. Giorno did not blink. He folded his hands over his Fendi belt buckle and stood in the shadows watching his new father with the benign and noble expression of a michelangelos david. 

Was this...was this genuine concern for him? Or was it that his boyfriend just hated unjust things happening? Giorno was looking outside the window. It was twilight.

Bruno noticed this and looked at the time on his watch.   
“Giorno, if we want to make the flight to barcelona by tomorrow we better get to bed soon.”

Abbacchio was unhappy to hear that his love would be leaving so soon.  
“Barcelona? What is there?”

Bruno was happy that he asked.  
“You may find this surprising, as I did myself, but Giorno here wants to follow in his new oldmans footsteps in becoming a twitter verified influencer!”

Abbachhio did not know what twitter verified ment but his heart sank at the realization that Bruno wanted to spend more time with this jabroni rather than be there for him after being shot and left for dead.

“Oh. Ok.”

Bruno looked puzzled.  
“Is something wrong my turtle dove?”

Abbacchio turned his head so that Bruno could not see any developing tears.  
“ No. I think its great that you are able to do something you want”

Bruno smiled. “Thank you Abbacchio.”  
He began to leave and Bruno’s son shadowed him with a slow blink that could have meant good bye...or good riddance…. 

Abbacchio was jealous. The pain he was in was nothing compared to the amount of disdain he had for that son. 

Minutes turned into hours. His solitude left him fixated on his uncomfy thoughts of Bruno's abandonment in his time of needs. As he started to drift into the snooze lane a horrid susurration from the hallway reminded him of his previous goth beau. It was him. It had to be.

Abbacchio’s feet reached the floor as he prepared himself for the first footsteps he would take since his close call with the lord. He took his IV stand with him as he creeped towards the door to check if it really was the tall alternative man himself.

And oh it was. Risotto Nero was mulling over some paperwork with the nurse, donned in his professional garb. He said “I don’t know Nancy, I just dont think its working out between me and the patient.” Abbacchio took a backwards step and put his hands over his cheeks much like the figure in the famous painting The Scream (1893). His patient? Was he his patient?

The doctors eyes shot towards Abbachio and he began to fast walk at him. Abbacchio was grasped by the sensation of a man being hunted. He turned to try and run and hide back into the covers but he simply was not coordinated enough. He tripped, sending his hospital gown aflutter as he loomed in slow motion over the bed, waiting for the shameful pain of his atrophied body slapped against the sterile tile floor. It did not come. His human figure simply spiraled despairingly into the empty parapiss that opened before him, consuming both he and his tacky hallmark greeting cards.

As he descended and the light from above grew smaller into a point he could hear Risottos voice sound out a baritone “Patient Abbacchio L. Pronounced dead at 11:43 PM Cause of death: Neediness”. 

The sound that was made as he hit the ground was of a flat line from his personal heart monitor.  
He jolted awake.

Sweating, his eyes darted to the new individual in the room. Sleeping by the window was his favorite record store employee: Narancia. Finally. Perhaps someone decent had come to see him. 

Abbacchio stretched out his arm to grab a gala apple off the plastic grey food tray the nurse had left on the table by his bed. 

Narancia did not notice when the apple was launched at him.   
Disappointed, but with mild enjoyment, Abbacchio searched for something else to rouse the sleepy boy. He frowned before reaching towards the bedside table and flung the orange flavor gelatin cubes at his prodigal son. The cubes cast slimy raindrops over his peaceful face until Narancia began to get agitated in his sleep.

How long would this last…. Abbacchio shouted using an indoor voice “Hey.” He barked. “Narancia!”

The boy begrudgingly opened his eyes, wiping his face off in one violent swipe.   
“JESUS CHRIST WHA-.”   
The boy woke up when he realized who was harassing him and a wide smile grew upon his face.   
“HEY! Abbacchio! You woke up!”


End file.
